


Three Visits

by JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle



Series: Summer and Fall 2015 [6]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anal Sex, Coming Out, December 2015/January 2016, Holidays, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-03 17:53:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8724082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle/pseuds/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle
Summary: Jack and Bitty continue to figure out how to be together and how open they can be while dealing with the challenges their own situations.





	1. Madison

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of the 'verse in Can't Hardly Wait, Providence and Beyond and the The Visit. The only thing you probably need to know is that Sam McElwee is a former teammate of Bitty's from Madison, now a student at Vanderbilt University, who came to visit him at Samwell.  
> The three chapters will be three separate visits: Bitty to his parents' home in Madison, Bitty to Providence, and Bitty and Jack to Nashville.  
> The tags will be updated as necessary.  
> The first chapter includes some NSFW material in the beginning of the section that is marked "Dec. 28, Jack." If you want to skip it, start reading again at the asterisks.  
> As always, all the good stuff belongs to Ngozi.

Dec. 23, Bitty

Bitty looked at the email from Sam, then texted Jack.

_You know you’re playing in Nashville Jan. 16? Would you like someone to cheer for you on the road?_

When Jack didn’t reply immediately, Bitty went back to his pie. It was cherry, nice and red and festive for the holidays, even if he had to use canned cherries. Mama had said she was tired to death of pumpkin and pecan and sweet potato pies, and she wanted something that would look good on the table for the pre-Christmas Eve dinner she had planned for Bitty and MooMaw.

By the time Bitty put the pie in the oven, Jack had responded.

_Of course, if you’re offering. But you know more of the team will figure it out if you turn up in Nashville._

Bitty chewed his lip and thought for a moment.

_I wouldn’t be on my own at the game. Sam invited me to visit, since he came to Samwell. His team has a game that Sunday, and Monday’s a holiday, and miracle of miracles, we have no games that weekend, so the schedule works. But I have to buy tickets soon._

This time Jack responded right away.

_Let me get the tickets for you. They can be a Christmas present. And I’ll get tickets for the game, too. Just the two?_

_Not sure,_ Bitty answered. _I know he has a girlfriend. Would three be too many?_

 _I don’t think so,_ Jack texted. _Not many guys ask for tickets on the road. How’s Georgia?_

 _Warmer than Massachusetts,_ Bitty typed. _At least outside. I think Mama is upset that I’m heading back north before New Year’s. She keeps asking why, and I keep saying I have school stuff, but she knows it’s between semesters. I dunno. Talk about it later?_

 _OK,_ Jack said. _Love you. Usual time?_

“How was dinner?” Jack asked when their Skype call connected that evening. “Everything go all right?”

“MooMaw is evil,” Bitty said. “She sits there all innocent, and then she asks if I ever hear from you. She talks about how she thinks it must be pretty up north with snow, and have I ever gone all the way … to Canada? Just like that, with the pause and everything.”

Jack’s lips quirked, and Bitty could tell he was holding in a giggle.

“I’m serious, Jack, that woman is going to be the death of me!” 

“You love her,” Jack said.

“I do. I really, really do,” Bitty said. “And even though it was all just her teasing me, it felt good to talk about you, y’know? I know it’s only been a month or so since we told the team, but I forgot how hard it is to keep this a secret. I don’t know how you do it.”

“But I don’t, really,” Jack said. “Maman and Papa know, and since I told Tater, I have someone who has my back on the team. That made a big difference. At least we can Skype more easily when I’m on the road now, and he doesn’t ask about my girlfriend.”

“No, now he just texts me to ask for recipes,” Bitty said. “And tells me how impossible they are so I’ll make them for him.”

“Like you really have to be convinced to bake,” Jack said.

“True,” Bitty acknowledged. “And I have learned some new things, so I can’t complain. Mama really liked the gingerbread I made.”

“Well, if your mother likes it, it must be good, right?” Jack asked.

“Yeah, Mama ain’t one to pay compliments she doesn’t mean,” Bitty said. “At least not about things I bake. … It’s Mama I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What about her?” Jack asked.

“I think she’s really upset with me,” Bitty said. “I mean, she hasn’t said anything, but something’s just off. Strained, I guess. I know she was unhappy when I said I wasn’t staying for New Year’s.”

Jack frowned, a crease forming between his eyebrows.

“Do you want to stay?” he said. “You don’t have to come …”

“No, Jack,” Bitty said. “I’ve been looking forward to next week for so long. I mean, I think maybe I should tell her. I’m pretty sure she knows it’s not really school.”

“What do you think she thinks it is?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know,” Bitty said. “I’m afraid she thinks I’d just rather be at alone at Samwell than here with her and Coach, and her feelings are hurt. Or maybe her feelings are hurt just because I haven’t told her why.”

“What would you tell her?” Jack asked. “Just that you’re coming to visit me?”

“Well, that’s true as far as it goes,” Bitty said. “But I’m not sure that would help. I mean, it would be like I was picking you over my family. Which I guess I am. But maybe it would be easier for her to understand if she knew you were my boyfriend? But that’s only if she can find a way to understand about me having -- about me wanting -- a boyfriend at all. I wish this wasn’t so hard.”

Jack was silent for a moment.

“What about your father? How would he react? Could you tell your mother and not your father?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” Bitty said. “I mean, I could just tell her and not him. But I couldn’t expect her not to tell Coach, and it would feel like shirking if I made her tell him for me.”

“Do you want me to be there?” Jack asked. “I could come down instead of going to Montreal tomorrow.”

“No, Jack. Your parents are counting on you for Christmas, and I’m not gonna say anything until after Christmas anyway,” Bitty said.

“You don’t want to make things awkward?”

“That, and if it goes badly, I’ll still hopefully be able to remember a good holiday.” Bitty tried to smile, but it was weak.

“We have a game in Montreal on the 26th, but I’ll be back on Sunday,” Jack said. “You want me to fly to Atlanta instead? I can talk to the coaches about --”

“I think I’ll tell them Sunday,” Bitty said. “After church. We probably won’t do a big family thing two days after Christmas. I’m leaving Monday anyway. I guess, just, if it goes really badly, can you help me pay to change my ticket so I can get out of here that night?”

“Of course,” Jack said. “You sure you don’t want me to be there?”

“Oh, honey, I would love it if you were here, but I don’t want them to think it’s all about you,” Bitty said. “If they’re going to have a problem with me being gay, well, they’d have that problem whether we’re together or not. And after last summer, I’m pretty sure that it won’t be terrible -- or even too much of a surprise.”

“It’s up to you, Bits,” Jack said, but he still looked uncertain. “I mean, I can’t see this changing the way your parents feel about you. But I can’t see why the whole world isn’t in love with you anyway. And I’m not sure how much happier your mom will be with you leaving early if she knows it’s to see your boyfriend.”

“I guess I’ll find out,” Bitty said. “Text me before you leave in the morning?”

“I will,” Jack said. “And I’ll call when I get to Montreal.”

“Thanks. I love you and I miss you.”

“I love you and I miss you, Bitty.”

Dec. 24, Jack

Jack tossed his duffel bag on the bed in what passed for his bedroom, although it looked more like a guest room. He supposed that made sense; Jack had only lived with his parents full-time for one year out of the last 10, the year following his overdose.

He was glad his mother hadn’t left his room the way he left it when he was 16 and going off to his first billet house. He was pretty sure the comforter on the bed then had a pattern of hockey sticks, and the only thing that would have passed as decor were the posters of famous hockey players -- most of them his honorary “uncles” -- on the walls. He wouldn’t have wanted to come home from rehab, thinking he’d lost his only chance to prove himself as a hockey player, to that.

Instead, the room held a double bed made up in shades of gray and blue, a patterned rug in similar colors on the floor, with dark wood furniture. Some of his parents’ favorite photographs that he had taken in Montreal and at the summer house hung on the walls. He had two nights in this not-quite-impersonal room before he joined the team at morning skate on Boxing Day.

After washing his hands and face, he rejoined his parents in the kitchen, where his mother was sipping tea at the table and his father was preparing the roast to go into the oven.

“It’s a Wonderful Life” was playing on the TV on the counter in the background.

“Have you called Eric yet to let him know you made it?” his mother asked.

“As soon as I landed,” Jack said. “He sounded like he was up to his elbows in flour and butter, but we’ll Skype later. Do you want to say hello?”

“I’d love to,” Maman said. “I have to tell him I made the gingerbread cookies from his vlog, and they were marvellous.”

“I’m sure he’ll like that,” Jack said. “He really likes it when someone learns something new from what he posts.”

“Do you know what he’s making today?” his father asked. “Are they doing a roast, too?”

“Um, I don’t really know,” Jack said. 

“Well, maybe next year, you boys can both come for Christmas, and I’ll show him how it’s done,” his father said.

Jack glanced looked up, about to object to the chirp, because Bitty could cook anything better than anyone else Jack knew, and intercepted a look between his parents. His mother’s glare plainly said she thought his father had gone too far, while his father’s “Who, me?” expression said he’d only stated the obvious. Which made no sense, because Bitty had probably been a better cook than Bad Bob when Bitty was 10 years old.

Then his mother spoke, sounding like she was weighing her words carefully. 

“We don’t mean to put too much pressure on you,” she said. “We just want you to know that we like Eric and he’s welcome here.”

Jack laughed -- actually laughed out loud -- and said, “You thought it would pressure me to talk about Eric being here next year? I’m glad you like him, Maman, but I love him, and if he wants to spend all the rest of the Christmases of our lives together, I’m in.”

He watched his mother’s shoulders relax, and his father laugh, and he said, “But Papa, really. He’ll show you how it’s done.”

Once the roast was in the oven, he joined his parents in the sitting area, looking at the tree, wondering how Bitty’s Christmas Eve was going, wondering how Sunday would go.

“How did you feel when you found out I was bisexual?” he asked his parents.

His father shifted his gaze from the tree to to Jack’s face and said, “Well, I just found out, and right now I’m feeling pretty good.”

“I’m serious, Papa,” Jack said.

“Who you were dating -- it was the least of our concerns,” his mother said. “You were unconscious in a hospital bed when Kent told us you were together. Our hearts went out to him, of course, but our main concern was you and your survival first, then helping you find your way through everything.”

“Then you weren’t talking to Kent, and you were dating girls, so I guess you could say we had an idea that bisexual might be the right term, but it wasn’t really important to us,” his father said. “You were.”

“I was an asshole -- sorry, Maman -- a jerk to Kent,” Jack said. “It just seemed like he was getting everything I wanted, everything I worked for, and I was stuck going nowhere, and I just ignored him for so long.”

His mother and father looked at each other again, like they were deciding who would take that one, so Jack forged ahead to take it out of their hands.

“But then he was a jerk to me too, so I guess it probably never would have worked long-term,” he said. “We were both so young and so scared. Everything feels different with Bitty.”

“How so?” his mother asked.

Jack didn’t want to talk about the way kissing Bitty felt like coming home, or how he finally understood why sex was called “making love.” Instead, he said, “Being with Bitty makes me feel safe, and I want to make him feel safe, too. I want him to be safe. It’s not like everything is a competition with him.”

Then he said, “He’s going to tell his parents this weekend. About him, and if that goes OK, about us.”

“As I said,” his mother said, “Eric is always welcome here, if he needs it.”

His father nodded his agreement, but said, “I know I only met his mother for a minute, but she thinks that boy hung the moon. It will probably be fine. If it’s not, Eric has home here.”

“Merci, Papa, Maman,” Jack said. “But you know he has a home with me.”

Dec. 25, Bitty

By Christmas night, Bitty was ready for the holiday to be over.

With the Bittle relatives on Christmas Eve -- plus a service at their church, which was much more conservative than Bitty’s family’s faith community -- he had to practice smiling and nodding and drifting from room to room, refilling platters and serving bowls as he went so he always had an excuse to keep moving.

He caught the disapproving looks of his uncles and older male cousins, ensconced in deep sofas and easy chairs, talking football and hunting and putting on a display of masculinity that Shitty would think had to be a put-on, it was so thorough. 

By now, Bitty had learned enough both from a gender studies class and from Shitty to understand that the glares he got for bringing in more chips and dip had to do with their discomfort at seeing a boy (a man? No, they wouldn't see him like that) doing women’s work. 

Tough cookies, he thought. It gave him away to avoid the inevitable questions about whether he had a girlfriend (from the older generation) and whether northern girls were more or less likely to put out (from the younger generation). 

Coach tried to turn the questions to hockey once or twice -- how long had Coach liked to brag on Bitty? Was this a new thing? -- but the topic seemed too foreign for most of his relations to follow.

Christmas morning was nice. It didn’t have the magic it had when he was little, but Bitty enjoyed helping his mother make breakfast and then opening gifts under the tree. He was happy, but not surprised, to find new hockey skates. They were exactly what he had asked for, down to the model number and size. The other large box, though, that was unexpected. The new figure skates were gorgeous, and easily cost $500 or more.

Bitty looked up at his mother. 

“These are beautiful, but you didn’t have to do that,” Bitty said. “I don’t get much of a chance to figure skate.”

“It was your father’s idea,” Suzanne said. “When we were getting the hockey skates, he realized it was a long time since you had new figure skates, and you’ve grown. Your old ones have to be too small.”

“They’re pretty tight,” Bitty acknowledged, not mentioning that the last time he’d worn them, he’d had a hard time jamming his foot into the boot. “But I can only get the ice to practice every now and then.”

“That’s all right, Junior,” Coach said. “I know you like it, and you can’t really do it at all without the right equipment.”

Christmas afternoon brought the Phelps clan together at MooMaw’s, and that did bring a certain relief. MooMaw loved and accepted him as he was, and everyone appreciated his baking skills. Here there were cousins still young enough to look up to him -- he spent a pleasant hour organizing, officiating and playing goalie in a spirited game of sock-hockey in the upstairs hall -- but here also was Aunt Barbara.

Aunt Barbara, whom he overheard asking his mother whether it wasn't a mistake sending him to “that school” where there were so many of “those people.” His mother had turned a bland face to her sister and said, “You mean hockey players?”

“You know what I mean,” Aunt Barbara pushed on in a furious whisper that was perfectly audible to Bitty. “They’ll make him think it’s OK to be like that.”

“I don't understand what you mean,” his mother had said, her face red. “Dicky is a fine young man, and I couldn't be more pleased with how he's turning out so far. I trust him to know the difference between right and wrong.”

Bitty scuttled into the powder room off the kitchen before his mother could turn and see that he’d heard.

Dinner was a long affair, with food that wasn’t especially fancy, but was good and plentiful.

Bitty sat as far from Aunt Barbara and as close to MooMaw as possible. MooMaw decided to amuse herself by asking about Jack, “that delightful young man who visited last summer. He was so polite, and good-looking, too. Is he having much success with his new team?”

Bitty had no problem talking at length about Jack’s success on the ice, and how much his new team liked him, and how he still made time to see his friends from Samwell.

“I think it would be hard on someone with his problems, all that pressure of a career in professional sports,” Aunt Barbara chimed in.

MooMaw and Bitty’s mother jumped to respond, with Suzanne getting in first.

“There’s a lot of pressure on anyone,” she said, “but he’s worked hard, and he has a good family and a lot of support. I can’t imagine it’s easy, but he seems to be doing really well.”

MooMaw asked then about Bitty’s new captains, and he had much of the table laughing at tales of Ransom and Holster’s uncanny compatibility. Aunt Barbara still had a sour look on her face.

“You said they share a room?” she sniffed.

Bitty ignored her. Late that night, in bed with his laptop screen open to Skype, he asked Jack about his Christmas: a quiet dinner with his parents and a couple of family friends.

“It was fine, I guess,” Jack said. “Maybe a little too quiet? But my parents have so many things to go to in the holidays -- you know, benefits and things -- that Christmas is actually a day to rest. Papa and I did skate a little, but nothing serious.”

“Do you like it, skating with your dad?” Bitty said. “Coach has never been on skates. I guess it might be like when I throw a football around with Coach. I can do that. It was just the physical part of football I wasn’t good at.”

“I can’t really say what it’s like, I guess,” Jack said. “I’ve been skating with Papa as long as I can remember. It’s just what we do.”

“Can I tell you what I got for Christmas?”

“Didn’t you say you were asking for new skates? It’s past time for them. Your old ones are falling apart.”

“I did get new skates,” Bitty said. “Hockey skates and figure skates both. And Mama said it was Coach’s idea to get me the figure skates. I’m going to see if I can try them both out tomorrow.”

“Good for you,” Jack said. “Are you still going to talk to your parents on Sunday?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Bitty said. “I feel like they should know.”

“OK,” Jack said. “Let me know if there’s anything -- anything at all -- I can do to help.”

Dec. 26, Jack

Jack packed his bag when he got up Saturday morning, and after coffee and breakfast with his parents, headed to the rink for morning skate.

His parents told him they’d be at the game that night, but the Falconers were scheduled to fly back to Providence directly after, so they said their goodbyes in the morning.

“I mean what I said about Eric,” his mother said. “He’s always welcome here, and always will be. Even if you’re not together. As long as he’d good to you. If he needs to know he has a place to stay.”

“ _Merci, Maman_ ,” Jack said. “I know you like him, and I’ll tell him, but I think it will be all right.”

He got an Uber to the rink, and thought about his mother’s offer on the way. It was meant kindly, he knew -- it _was_ kind -- but just that she’d had to put a condition on it -- “as long as he’s good to you” -- showed that his parents might love Bittle some day, might be his in-laws (he hoped), but could never replace Bitty’s own parents. Because no matter what, Jack knew he would always come first with them, and if they thought Bitty had done something to hurt Jack, then their relationship with Bitty could be over in a heartbeat.

The thought that Bitty didn’t have that, had never had that kind of family support, made Jack feel a little sick. When his life, including his relationship with Kent, had fallen apart, his parents had been there to help him pick up the pieces. They weren’t perfect, of course, but neither was he, and he had never doubted that they wanted the best for him, wanted him to be happy. What must it be like for Bitty? To risk his heart on Jack, not knowing if there was anyone holding a net in case he fell? Not knowing if he would have to put himself back together all by himself, and never tell the people who were supposed to love him unconditionally why he was broken -- even that he was broken -- in the first place?

 _Crisse,_ Bitty was risking so much, trusting Jack with so much. And that day in the Haus when he’d run back and found Bitty crying, he’d just kissed him, with no warning, and Bitty hadn’t said “Wait a minute,” or “What are we doing?” He’d just kissed Jack back.

Jack was determined to be worthy of that trust.

Tomorrow Bitty was going to take another risk, telling his parents and finding out whether the support he deserved was there or not. On balance, Jack thought it would be, after hearing Bitty talk about his parents and spending some time with them over the summer. But he couldn’t be sure, just like Bitty wasn’t sure. 

He wished he could be there.

Bitty wanted to do it on his own, to make it clear that his being gay was part of him, regardless of his relationship with Jack. Although he knew Bitty also planned to tell them about their relationship, at least as long as the first part of the conversation went all right.

Maybe Jack could be there, just not actually in the room, or in the house. Maybe he could be in Georgia, ready to stand at Bitty’s side once he said what he needed to say, however it went.

It would be another plane ticket, but he didn’t have games Sunday and Monday. He might miss a skate Monday, but he was pretty sure it would be all right.

When he got to the facility, he pulled his phone out before he changed his mind and bought a round-trip ticket to Atlanta, flying back on the same flight as Bitty on Monday.

He skated, ate lunch with Poots and Tater, went back to the team hotel to nap. He caught the bus to the arena with the team, did a light workout, and ate the peanut butter and jelly sandwich his mother had packed that morning. Bitty’s were better, he thought.

The game was … well, it was a game, a 3-2 loss in which he played all right, had an assist, but the Habs were stronger in the third period and he didn’t like to lose. But in a season this long, he was learning, getting too down after a loss didn’t do anyone any good.

He showered and packed his gear and boarded the team bus to the airport. While they were waiting to get on the plane, he walked a little way down the corridor to call Bitty.

Tater caught his eye and nodded, as if to say he’d make sure Jack got just a little privacy.

“Hey, Bud,” he said, when Bitty answered. “How are you?”

“Sorry about the game,” Bittle said, “I saw highlights. That was a sweet pass you gave Poots.”

“It was … all right,” Jack said. “What did you do today?”

Bitty sounded tired when he said, “It was pretty good. There was some free time at the rink -- no lessons this week -- so Karla let me have an hour in exchange for skate-guarding at public skate. Both sets of skates fit, although it’ll take a little while to get the figure skates broken in. Do you think there’ll be time to skate at all when I’m in Providence?”

“I’m sure I can get us some time,” Jack said.

“Oh, and Sam was at the rink today, and he’s up for the game on the 16th, if you think it’s OK for us to be there,” Bitty said.

“I’ll get tickets for you guys,” Jack said. “Ask him if he wants to bring anyone else. Will you stay with him the whole time?” 

“I can’t very well stay with you and Tater,” Bitty said. “Even if Tater does know.”

“Ouais, but the team is only there Friday night,” Jack said. “I could stay Saturday night on my own. I should be back in Providence by Monday morning though, so I should probably fly back Sunday night. You could stay with me Saturday night, and we could go to his game Sunday, and then if you want, you could stay with him Sunday night, or you could fly back with me. Your choice.”

Bitty hesitated. “I’m not sure this will work unless we tell Sam about us. What do you think? If you don’t want to, I can have something come up at school. A game that wasn’t on the schedule or something.”

‘Let me think about it,” Jack said. 

“I can’t wait to see you Monday,” Bitty said. “Can you pick me up, or should I take the bus down?”

“You know, one benefit of telling your parents is that you could just fly into Providence,” Jack said. “Are you still thinking you’ll tell them?”

“Yeah, I am,” Bitty said. “The more I think about, the more it feels like lying to not say anything. And I really don’t think they’ll kick me out or yell or anything. I just don’t want them to be disappointed -- it’s not like I can change, like I got a bad grade and can study harder and do better next time. It’s who I am.”

“I know, Bits,” Jack said. “If it helps, I love you. And anyone who’s disappointed in anything about you has far bigger problems than you have.”

“Says the man who’s always after me to study my French,” Bitty chirped.

“It’s the language of love,” Jack said. 

He paused.

“Seriously, I know you want to talk to your parents yourself, and I get that, but would it be OK if I came later tomorrow?” Jack said. “Part of me wants to be there just in case, and if it goes well, then I get to see my boyfriend a day earlier. What do you think?”

It was Eric’s turn to pause.

“I think you’ve already bought tickets,” he finally said.

“If I did, they’d be refundable,” Jack said. “Really, is it OK?”

The smile in Bitty’s voice came through the connection as he said, “Of course it is. I want to see my boyfriend a day earlier too.”

Dec. 27, Bitty

Bitty was distracted all through church Sunday morning. It was a shame, he thought, managing to step far enough back from his thoughts to realize that he was not properly appreciating the Christmas music and decorations and the stories of an infant Jesus that he’d always enjoyed when he was a child.

After church, he changed into jeans and a long-sleeved henley to help his mother get mid-day dinner on the table.

Jack’s flight was scheduled to land in Atlanta at 1:10 p.m., and then he was going to rent a car and drive toward Madison, but wait until he heard from Bitty before actually coming to the house.

Bitty was nervous about that part. It was one thing to tell his parents he was gay -- and really, three years ago he could barely say that out loud to himself in the mirror, so this was definitely progress, right? -- and another to tell them that he had boyfriend, who he was going to stay with, which would likely make them assume that he would be having sex with said boyfriend. Who was then going to show up on their doorstep, to either stay the night in their house (with Bitty? Would the sleeping arrangements be the same as in the summer if they knew?) or carry Bitty off from under their noses. Not that Bitty needed to be carried.

“Penny for your thoughts,” his mother said, interrupting him just before he overworked the biscuit dough he was kneading.

“Sorry, just lost in my head, I guess,” Bitty said, patting the dough into a rectangle and reaching for the water glass that was never used for anything but cutting biscuits.

“Are you all right? You’re awfully quiet,” his mother asked.

Bitty summoned all his cheerfulness to give her a smile.

“I’m fine, Mama, really,” he said. “I guess the holidays were just a lot.”

“Well, you’re leaving tomorrow, so you won’t have to put up with it much longer,” she said, her tone trying for light and joking, but not quite reaching it.

They finished cooking and setting the table without talking about anything except getting dinner cooked and and served.

Bitty and his parents sat down to ham, scalloped potatoes, green beans and biscuits. Bitty sat in his usual seat, watching his parents at either end serve themselves. Once all three plates were full and his parents started eating, Bitty decided that now would be as good a time as any.

“Mama, Coach, I have something to tell you,” he said.

His mother put her fork down and straightened in her seat. Coach pushed his chair back from the table an inch or two, his eyes on Bitty’s face.

Bitty looked at his plate and twisted the napkin in his lap. Why did he think this would be a good idea? Now he had to say something. But telling them the truth would mean no going back.

“Junior?” Coach said. “Whatever it is, spit it out, son. Not talking about it isn’t going to help, whatever it is.”

“You can tell us anything, Dicky,” his mother said.

“Um, well,” Bitty looked at his father and then his mother. “What it is, is, well. I’m gay.”

His mother picked up her fork again.

“That’s all right, sweetheart,” she said. “We thought that might be the case.”

“We just didn’t want to assume,” Coach said. “Your mama did some research, and everything she read said to let you tell us instead of coming out and asking.”

Bitty sat up straighter.

“Uh, how long have you known?” he asked.

“Well, known for sure? About two minutes,” his mother said. “Thought maybe? Oh, Dicky, I don’t know. Since you were 11 or 12 maybe?”

“Because of the figure skating?” Bitty asked.

“Maybe a little,” his mother said. “But probably not in the way you mean. You spent all that time with all those cute little girls in those tiny skirts, and they never turned your head.”

“And when kids at school said that about you, well, you denied it,” Coach said. “But you still never dated any girls, and there were a fair few that were making eyes at you.”

“What? No,” Bitty said.

“Jessica Rangel?” his mother said. “Grace Marley?”

“Mama! They were my friends!” 

“Of course they were,” his mother said. “But they also thought you were cute. And you never noticed.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, we understand why you didn’t want people to know around here, especially after what happened before we moved,” Coach said. “But, to be honest, we thought maybe after you went to that school that you might say something.”

Bitty gave them a watery smile.

“I did say something,” he said. “To my friends there. But I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Oh, honey,” his mother reached for his hand. “You have never disappointed us.”

“But I’m not what you wanted in a son,” Bitty insisted. “And if people find out, you’ll be the parents with the gay kid.”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, Junior, but plenty of people already think that,” Coach said. “Hasn’t done us any harm yet.”

“So what’s it like for you at school? Have you dated a lot of boys?” his mother asked.

“Your team is really OK with it?” his father asked.

Bitty felt himself blush.

“Um, about that,” he said. “‘I had a few dates with a few boys, but nothing really clicked until I started dating my boyfriend. And the team has always been fine with me being gay -- Ransom and Holster set me up on most of those dates -- and they’re fine with my boyfriend, too.”

His mother was looking at him expectantly now.

“Who’s your boyfriend?” she asked. “Is it someone we know?”

Bitty felt his face split into a grin. The only person from Samwell they both knew was Jack. She had it figured out.

“Yes, Mama,” he said. “It’s Jack.”

She squealed a bit, and got up to hug him where he was sitting.

“I thought maybe last summer there was something between you,” she said. “You know what your MooMaw says. He's a fine young man.”

“He also landed in Atlanta just a few minutes ago,” Bitty said. “He wanted to be close just in case … well … can I tell him to come over?”

“Of course, dear, of course. I'll get another place setting,” she said.

“Mama, he won't be here for at least an hour, probably an hour and a half,” Bitty said. “We can save him a plate, OK?”

He started eating his dinner, hoping his parents would follow suit. His mother did, but his father sat still, looking at him speculatively. 

After two bites, Bitty put his fork back down. “Coach?” he said. “Is it not OK if Jack comes over? Because if it's not, I can get my things together and just have him pick me up.”

“Dicky, no,” his mother said. “Any friend of yours is welcome here.”

“All the same, I'd like to hear from Coach that my boyfriend is welcome,” Bitty said.

Coach gave his head a small shake, as if to clear his thoughts, and said, “Of course Jack is welcome here, Junior. It so happens I have some things I want to say to him. Do you need to call him or text him or something? Why don't you do that?”

“Yes, sir,” Bitty said, stepping away from the table to send a text.

_Come on over. We’ll save you dinner. Coach said he wants to talk to you._

Then he sat back down to the same ham and potatoes and a new reality, one in which his mother asked for details about his relationship -- when they had gotten together, who knew, when had they been told, what was Bad Bob really like?

“MooMaw knows,” Bitty blurted. “She figured it out and asked me about it before he came here last summer.”

That got a chuckle from Coach. “Never could sneak anything past that woman,” he said. “But that raises a question: Do you want the rest of the family to know?”

Bitty felt himself wince a bit at the thought of the Bittle relations or Aunt Barbara and how they would react.

“How about you don't say anything but just yet?” he said. “I don't want them attacking you and Mama because of me. If they ask about me, though, I'm not gonna lie. If they ask about Jack, though, I kind of have to.”

“I understand, and I won't let anyone attack you either,” Coach said. “And that includes that harpy you call a sister, Suzanne.”

“She is my sister, Richard, but she's also bitter and she loves to look down on people,” Bitty’s mother said. “Don't worry about her. I've been living my whole life with her.”

When the doorbell rang an hour later, Bitty was in the kitchen with his mother, putting up the leftovers and stacking the dishes in the sink. 

“You go ahead, Dicky,” his mother said. “I'll just get Jack's plate out of the oven.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bitty said, drying his hands on a towel and heading for the living room. 

His father was opening the door by the time he got there, extending his hand to Jack and asking him to come in. 

Jack looked a bit nervous until he saw Bitty behind his father’s shoulder as he shook Coach’s hand and thanked him. Then Bitty made a move around his father, pulled Jack into an embrace and reached up to kiss his boyfriend’s cheek.

“I missed you,” he said. “Merry Christmas.”

Jack squeezed him a little tighter, kissed him back and said, “Me too.”

Bitty let go and led Jack to the dining room, where Bitty’s mother was just putting his plate down. 

Bitty went to sit down, but Coach said, “Why don't you go help your mother finish up in the kitchen and then bring the pie out?”

Bitty glanced at Jack, who looked a little nervous again and gave him a small shrug. 

“Yes, sir,” he said, and went into the kitchen. 

“Do you know what that's about?” he asked his mother.

She shook her head, but she smiled.

“I wouldn't worry,” she said. “Your father loves you, and he only wants the best for you. Besides, I think Jack can take care of himself.”

“I guess so,” Bitty said, putting the last of the plates in the sink to soak in hot water. 

“Anyway, I have something to tell you,” his mother said. “You are my son, and I will always love you. No matter what. Never doubt that I'll be on your side, or that I'll do whatever I can to help you. And I know your father feels the same.”

“Thanks, Mama,” Bitty said, snuffling a little before pulling the bowl of fresh whipped cream he'd made from the refrigerator and handing it to his mother. He picked up the pie that was cooling on the stove top. “Shall we?”

By the time they returned to the dining room, Jack was speaking, his face and voice animated and his hands moving. It took Bitty a moment before he realized Jack was using his fingers to try to illustrate a hockey play on the tablecloth, while his father furrowed his brow and tried to follow it.

“Maybe you had to see it,” Jack allowed, leaning back and wrapping an arm around Bitty’s waist as he put the pie down and picked up Jack's plate. “No one else on the team could have done it.”

“Jack here was just telling me about the goal you scored against Boston College,” Coach said. “I'm thinking maybe your mother and I should find a weekend to come up, watch you play. If Jack's team is town, so much the better.”

“Wait, you wanted to talk to Jack to ask for hockey tickets?” Bitty asked, almost indignant.

“Not exactly, Bits, but if your parents want to come to a game that's fine,” Jack said. “Maybe my parents could come at the same time.”

“That would be lovely,” Suzanne said. “But we don't have to figure it out this minute. Who wants pie?”

The rest of the day passed in a lazy post-holiday haze. No one ever asked where Jack was going to stay, or where Bitty was going to go when they flew back north the next day, but Bitty thought his mother’s strange tension had dissipated.

His father watched the Falcons beat the Panthers, and then later they watched the Vikings pound the Giants. Bitty saw Jack start to yawn around 10 o’clock, and got up and pulled his boyfriend by the hand. 

“We’re going to turn in now,” he said.

“Good night, boys,” Bitty’s mother said, as if this was a perfectly normal occurrence. “Sleep well.”

Dec. 28, Jack

Jack opened his eyes to a gray light and Bitty’s warm body pressed up against his side.

He thought about trying to slide out of the narrow bed without disturbing his boyfriend, but instead rolled so that his front was against Bitty’s back. He wrapped an arm around Bitty’s waist and tried to pull him closer. 

Jack wasn't trying to start anything, really. He was just remembering the first morning he'd woken up in Bitty’s bed, after the first night they’d slept together, the first time they'd done anything more than kiss each other.

This time they didn't have to worry about getting up before Bitty’s parents, just in case one of them poked their head in and saw the unoccupied air mattress. After yesterday, when Bitty’s parents sent them off to bed without even discussing sleeping arrangements, Jack was fairly certain they would not make any surprise visits.

Still, it would be rude to have noisy sex just down the hall from Bitty’s parents.

Somehow, even that thought did nothing to dampen the enthusiasm of his dick, which had responded they way it always did to the proximity of Bitty’s ass.

Well, they'd managed to be quiet before, he thought, letting his fingers trail under the waistband of Bitty’s boxer briefs.

Jack felt the hitch in Bitty's breath and the minute tensing of his muscles as Bitty woke, not saying anything but shifting his hips back to push against Jack’s groin. Jack's lips on his neck won an approving murmur. Then Bitty pulled away and turned his head.

“If we're gonna do this, we have to be quiet,” he said.

Jack kissed him again and said, “I know. We don’t have to --”

“But I want to,” Bitty said, shoving his underwear down to his knees before kicking it off and reaching into the bedside drawer for lubricant.

Jack took the opportunity to strip off his shorts as well, then took the tube Bitty handed him and snapped it open.

When they settled back together, Jack’s slick erection was nestled in the crack of Bitty’s ass, and his fingers were smoothing a layer of lubricant over Bitty’s hard cock. 

It wasn't long before they were moving together, Bitty thrusting into Jack's fist then grinding back against Jack’s cock, one hand stuffed into his own mouth and the other one reaching back to grasp at Jack, keeping him close.

Jack was breathing into Bitty’s hair, concentrating on keeping pace with Bitty until he felt Bitty’s’ muscles spasm and Bitty’s semen spill over his hand. Then Jack sped up, thrusting between Bitty’s clenched buttocks until he came, the semen spurting from Bitty’s crack onto his lower back.

******

They lay still for a moment, then Bitty turned in his arms, kissed him, and said, “Good Lord, you're going to be the death of me, Mr. Zimmerman.”

Then Bitty stretched and picked up his phone to check the time. “If we get up now, we can still get out for a run before my parents are up,” he said.

Jack groaned and sat up. “Really, Bits? Aren't you usually the one who wants to sleep in?”

“Sure, if we could go back to sleep and wake up and start again, but not with my parents here,” Bitty said. “Besides, you'll be squirrelly by this afternoon if you don't get _some_ exercise.”

Jack grumbled but knew Bitty was right, so he stood up, found running clothes and headed for the bathroom.

Five miles and 45 minutes later, Jack acknowledged that his head felt clearer and his body more relaxed. When they got back into the kitchen, Suzanne was scrambling eggs and Coach was at the table with coffee and the paper.

“Y’all want to shower before you eat? Suzanne said. “Be quick about it, and I’ll put your eggs on when you’re back.”

“Sure, Mama,” Bitty said. “Jack, why don’t you go first? If you give me those clothes, I can get a load of laundry going while we eat and it should be done before we have to leave for the airport.”

So Jack had showered, adding his sweaty running clothes to the basket Bitty had left in the bedroom when he went to shower. He headed down to the kitchen again while Bitty took his turn in the bathroom and took the coffee Suzanne handed him.

Instead of starting his breakfast straight away, she took the seat opposite him.

“Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but Dicky is going to be spending the last week of break with you, I think,” she said.

Jack didn’t see any use denying it.

“Yes, he is,” Jack said.

“That’s all right,” she said. “I can understand you wanting to spend some time together. You have another game tomorrow?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“It must be hard to find time when he’s in school and you’re both playing,” she said. “But I would appreciate knowing where he’s actually going to be. I know he’s an adult, and he can go where he pleases, but I’m his mother and I worry about him. Would it be too much to ask for your address in Providence and your contact information?”

“Um, no, ma’am,” Jack said, pulling his phone from his pocket. “If you give me your phone number, I’ll send them to you.”

“Of course,” Suzanne said, rattling off a number. “As soon as I get your number, I’ll send you Richard’s phone number as well, along with our email addresses.”

She was slipping the phone back into her pocket and turning back to cook their eggs when Bitty came through the kitchen, hair still damp, carrying the laundry basket.

“Mama! You didn’t just ask Jack for his phone number!” Bitty sounded for all the world like an indignant teenager.

“It’s fine, Bitty,” Jack said. “Your parents and I should have a way to get in touch with each other.”

At the airport, Jack had to spend a couple of minutes convincing Bitty to allow him to try to upgrade both their tickets to business class.

“I can afford it, and it will save my knees,” Jack said, “but I’m not going to sit in business while you’re back in coach. You’re really doing me a favor.”

Bitty gave in, but when they settled into the airline lounge to await their boarding call, he said, “You’re going to make me develop expensive tastes.” 

“What’s wrong with that?” Jack countered. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I am a professional athlete. So was my father, and my mother had successful modeling and acting careers. I think I can afford to keep you in the manner to which you’re becoming accustomed.”

Bitty’s expression darkened. 

“You don’t have to ‘keep’ me,” he said. “I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can,” Jack said. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that, to keep myself comfortable and, frankly, in playing shape, I’m used to doing things a certain way, and I want you to be with me as much as you can, and I can’t expect you to pay for that.”

“I get that,” Bitty said. “But I don’t know what I’m going to do when I graduate, and I’m pretty sure it won’t come with an NHL salary, especially not at first. I don’t want to have champagne tastes and a beer budget.”

Jack worked through what Bitty was saying.

“You can pay whatever we decide your fair share is, and I’ll pay my fair share, and it will be fine,” Jack said. 

Bitty just looked at him.

“Wait, you mean if we’re not together?” Jack said. “Are you not planning to be together?”

Bitty looked uncomfortable.

“Of course not, Jack,” Bitty said. “But look at us: you’re a hot Canadian hockey god that could be modeling on the side, and I’m me. You might decide you want to be with someone, well, someone more in your league. Although maybe not literally, since no one in your league is out. And I get that. We’ve only been together six months, and you can’t promise me forever, but I don’t want to get too spoiled.”

Jack glanced around the lounge and then moved to share the couch where Bitty was sitting, leaning over so he could speak in a low voice.

“I don’t know if I can promise forever, or if you can,” he said, “but I know I want forever with you. Stop running yourself down. You’re the one that’s out of my league. You are one of the strongest people I know, and you take care of people and you give and give, even when you’re hurting, even when people don’t stop to think about what it costs you. You are so brave, and so beautiful and what I give you only makes up for a fraction of what you give me.”

Jack took a breath.

“I can’t come out right now, I don’t think,” he said. “But I’m not going to wait forever. Even if it cuts my career short. And when I do, I want to be by your side. So don’t worry about whether you get used to flying business class. Just try to figure out how you’re going to put up with me.”

By the time he finished his speech, his breath was coming faster and he could feel his heart beating way too fast. He couldn't think about losing Bitty, not now that it was finally starting to seem real.

Bitty noticed Jack’s distress and put a hand on his shoulder, although he kept sitting a few inches away.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he said in a low tone. “I'm sorry if it sounded that way. Jack, I've been in love with you for it feels like forever, and I can't imagine that ever changing, but I can't expect you to feel the same way about me. And I have my pride, and I want to feel like I'm bringing something to the table here.”

Jack's heart rate slowed as he listened to Bitty talk.

“Of course you bring something to the table,” Jack said. “Even without the baking.”

Bitty had the grace to smile at that.

“I know you think so,” he said. “And most of the time I'd agree, but I spent a long while being told -- sometimes with words and sometimes not -- that being the way I was made me … made it so I had no value, and sometimes it's hard to get that out of my head. And anyway, I don't want you to feel like it's your job to take care of me all the time or solve all my problems. I want us to take care of each other.”

Bitty looked at the floor in front of his feet and let his hand slip from Jack’s shoulder.

“Bits,” Jack said softly. “I really wish I could kiss you now. Let's take the best care we can of each other. And let me enjoy the leg room in business class.”

Bitty gave him a small smile, and Jack could see his eyes were shiny.

“OK,” he said. “If that's the best way to take care of you now, I suppose I can make that sacrifice.”


	2. Providence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty spends a week with Jack in Providence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bitty and Jack get domestic when Bitty visits for a week at the end of Winter Break. Recipes in the notes at the end.  
> Not beta'd, so please let me know about any errors.  
> As always, everything belongs to Ngozi.

Dec. 29, Bitty

Bitty peered at his laptop on the island in Jack's kitchen. 

After weeks of buttery cookies and sweet Christmas treats, he wanted to make a vlog post with something different. A traditional New Year’s dish, maybe black-eyed peas? Simple but sophisticated hors d’oeuvres, or dishes that would go with a champagne brunch? 

The more he read, the more he started to see a theme: lucky New Year foods around the world tended to include grapes (maybe a grape cocktail with sparkling wine); greens like cabbage or collards; legumes; pork; and, yes, sweets. All of them were meant to symbolize good fortune -- some literally -- in the coming year.

With a little work he could design a dinner menu around that, and maybe make it for him and Jack to eat on the holiday. If he kept it simple, he should be able to record enough and edit it into a vlog post. Maybe more than one. People wouldn't be able to use it until next year, but the Internet was forever, wasn't it?

Bitty started searching for recipes and almost had a shopping list done when Jack came back from morning skate. Grape sparklers, lentil and green collard soup, grilled pork tenderloin -- for a big group, he'd probably roast a pork loin -- and sticky, round cake and some pecan shortbread cookies to go with coffee.

Jack came up behind him and pressed a kiss to his cheek and glanced at his screen. “What are you working on?” he asked.

“I’m making a New Year’s menu,” Bitty said. “I was thinking I could make us dinner on New Year’s Day, and we could eat while we watch the game? If I get it right, I can vlog about it. Maybe even get two or three posts from the different dishes. If you don’t mind me taping in your kitchen, of course.”

“Sure, but I thought you never recorded the first time you made something,” Jack said. “You’re not going to make all this twice, are you?”

He was looking at the dozen or so tabs open on Bitty’s screen.

“First, I’m not making all of this,” Bitty said. “I was just looking for options, and maybe some ways to tweak what’s here. Second, that’s my rule for baking. Cooking -- meat and vegetables and such -- tends to be more forgiving, and these are all pretty simple recipes. Even if I’ve never made these exact things, I’ve done similar dishes.”

“You mean you have a whole menu planned, and no baking?” Jack chirped, looking pointedly at the photograph of the cookie with the pecan on top on the screen.

“There’s just a cake and some shortbread cookies,” Bitty said. “I can make the cookies ahead, at least.”

“So when are you going to do all this?” Jack said. “You're coming to our game in Boston on Thursday, right?”

“Thursday, he says. That’s New Year’s Eve,” Bitty said.

“I know, but it's an early game,” Jack said. “I thought maybe we could grab dinner in Boston with Tater, then be back here by midnight.”

“OK,” Bitty said. “What about the game tonight? I mean, if the guys see me tonight, and then again in two days, and again in Nashville …”

Jack sighed, and Bitty steeled himself to hear that he should stay home, get an early start on the New Year’s dinner.

Instead, Jack said, “I hate feeling like I'm making you hide, but I didn't get you into the wives-and-family section. You just have a regular seat, close to center ice, about halfway up the lower section. And it feels rude to not invite you to the dressing room, but maybe you can drop me off a couple of hours before the game? Then you could take the car and go grocery shopping or something before you have to get there. When I'm ready to leave after, I'll text you and you can pick me up.”

Bitty relaxed. Jack did want him there, and while it was hiding in a way, this level of sneakiness was something Bitty knew he could handle. It had been like this and worse those first couple of months in the Haus in the fall.

“I can do that,” he said. “Let me know if you need anything from the store. What about Thursday?”

“You'll be there as my guest,” Jack said. “I asked Shitty and Lardo to come too. Then y’all can come down after the game.”

“Are they coming to dinner too?” Bitty asked, wondering if it would be possible to ring in the new year, um, privately, if they spent the evening with Shitty. Not that he had anything against Shitty -- far from it -- but he had plans, and those plans involved Jack and him and no clothes, and no other people, naked or otherwise.

“No, they already had plans,” Jack said. “I think they're holing up somewhere on their own for the weekend.”

“Good,” Bitty said, maybe a little too forcefully. When Jack looked at him curiously, he said, “I mean, good for them. That sounds nice.”

“It does,” Jack said. “I'm sorry I have to leave this weekend. Will you be all right staying here by yourself?”

“Of course I will,” Bitty said. “It's only one night, well, mostly.”

“Buffalo’s not too far,” Jack said. “I should be home maybe a little after midnight Saturday. You know I wouldn't miss the last night before you have to go back to school.”

Bitty made a face.

“Come on, Bud,” Jack said. “School’s important, and your whole team will be back Sunday. It’ll be OK.”

“I know,” Bitty said, working to keep the whiny sound out of his voice. “It's just that when we planned this, it felt like we'd have so much time together, and now it feels like it'll be over in the blink of an eye.”

“We've still got days, Bits, and I got permission to use the practice ice tomorrow afternoon. Am I going to get to see you use the new figure skates?”

Bitty grinned, and said, “If you don't mind rubbing my sore feet afterward. It'll be a bit before they’re broken in. Come on, let's have lunch and then we can curl up and take a nap. I know you have a routine to maintain.” 

*******************

Dec. 30, Jack

Jack pulled into the lot at the training facility, put the car in park, and squeezed Bitty’s knee.

“Ready? There shouldn’t be anyone else here now.”

“Sure thing,” Bitty said. “You going to skate too? We can do checking practice.”

“Do you want to?” Jack said. “I don’t recall that being one of your favorite things.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Mr. Zimmerman,” Bitty said. “But, I, uh, didn’t bring all my pads, so be gentle?”

“Of course,” Jack said, with visions of pushing Bitty gently but firmly into the boards. Not that they could really do anything too obvious here. The rest of the team was gone for the day, but the building housed team offices, and there always cleaners and other people around. Someone would have to drive the zamboni around the rink once they got off the the ice.

Still, Jack thought, it would be fun to press up against Bitty and watch the blush rise into his cheeks.

Bitty evidently had other ideas. Once they were laced up and on the ice, Jack set himself towards Bitty at a slow, steady pace, and Bitty took off. “Can’t check me if you can’t catch me,” Bitty taunted.

Jack sped up and followed after him, not reaching him until Bitty slowed up to allow the contact.

Then Bitty sped away again, leaving Jack to catch up. 

This time, when Jack got close, Bitty spun around and tagged Jack as he skated past him.

“Thought you were a hotshot NHL player now,” he said, giggling, before speeding away again.

Jack chuckled and followed along, wondering just how long he had been following Bitty’s lead.

The night before, Bitty had pulled up outside the player lot after the game and driven Jack home. The Falconers had won in overtime, 2-1, with Thirdy netting the winning goal. Jack had played hard but didn’t show up on the scoresheet, and he was exhausted. Maybe the holidays had taken more out of him than he thought.

When they got upstairs, Bitty had taken Jack’s coat and hung it in the hall closet with his own. On his way through the kitchen, Jack had noted that there were some new things on the counter -- lemons and oranges filled a wire basket, and the flour and sugar canisters had been moved out of the cabinet -- but Bitty tugged on his hand until they were in the bedroom. Then Bitty pushed his shoulders down until Jack was sitting on the bed, nuzzling his face into Bitty’s abdomen while Bitty petted his hair. 

“Poor thing, you’re done in,” he said. “You just sit there and let me take care of you.”

Then Bitty had proceeded to kneel down and untie his shoes, removing them and his socks. Just when Jack was getting ideas about where Bitty was headed, kneeling next to the bed like that, Bitty sat next to him and unbuttoned his shirt, sliding the smooth fabric down his arms and pulling the sleeves free of his hands. Bitty kissed his shoulders and rubbed the back of his neck, then settled in behind him and caressed his torso while he nuzzled his neck. By the time Bitty popped the button on his trousers open, Jack felt like he was floating, half-aroused, fully relaxed.

“Up you get,” Bitty said, standing behind him and pushing the soft wool down his thighs. Bitty knelt again, picking up one of Jack’s feet and then the other, before standing to go hang the pants in the closet.

“You really don’t have to do that,” Jack said, but it was a mild protest. 

“I know,” Bitty said. “But it’s not every night I get to take care of you. Let me take my opportunities where I find them.”

He embraced Jack, who was still standing next to the bed, dressed in only his briefs, and said, “Tell me what you want. We can just curl up and go to sleep, or …”

“Or?” Jack asked.

“Or we could do something else,” Bitty said. “Like I could suck you off, make you come. It’d probably make you sleep better.”

“I could suck you off, too,” Jack said. “You’re wearing my jersey.”

“I can wear it while I suck you off too,” Bitty said. He plucked at Jack’s waistband. “Come on, let’s get these off.”

Jack shoved them down, but stopped Bitty before he could kneel to pull them off Jack’s feet.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he said. “Take some off.”

“Sure,” Bitty said, toeing his shoes off.

“Leave the jersey?” Jack said.

“Of course,” Bitty said.

Then Bitty pulled down his own jeans and underwear and shucked them off his legs along with his socks, bundling them all up together and tossing the clothes toward the hamper.

He kneeled to remove Jack’s briefs, put his hands on his Jack’s hips, and nuzzled into Jack’s groin, inhaling deeply before exhaling into the dark curls there. He looked up at Jack and said, “Can I?”

“ _Crisse,”_ Jack said, his arousal far surpassing the relaxation he’d felt earlier. “Of course. Please. If you want to.”

Bitty licked at Jack for a moment, then used his hands on Jack’s hips to guide him back towards the bed.

“Sit down,” Bitty said, then situated himself on the floor, between Jack’s legs, and proceeded to kiss and lick and suck at Jack until Jack couldn’t have held back if he wanted to. He’d pulled gently at Bitty’s hair to get his attention, to warn him, and Bitty just hummed and sucked harder, and Jack had spilled himself in Bitty’s mouth -- down his throat -- and Bitty licked him clean.

Jack had been nearly out by then, but he remembered reaching for Bitty and Bitty saying, “Hush, sleep now,” and wrapping Jack in his arms.

Jack had slept well, and when he woke, he slipped out for a short run while his boyfriend slept. Bitty was still asleep when he returned, so he started coffee, scrambled two eggs and four egg whites, fried four slices of Canadian bacon and toasted some whole wheat bread. He put the breakfast on a tray and carried it in to see Bitty blinking awake.

Bitty had looked surprised, Jack thought, and happy, even though the food didn’t hold a candle to what Bitty could make.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Bitty said. 

“I wanted to,” Jack said. “We take care of each other, remember?”

They’d eaten, then cuddled, then made out for a while before getting up and showering. Once they were both dry and dressed, Jack suggested a walk.

“It’s really pretty with all the holiday decorations up,” he’d said.

“It’s 28 degrees outside,” Bitty countered, but pulled on his coat, a scarf, a hat and his gloves.

“You sure you can move in all of that?” Jack chirped. 

“Just because you were born to live in the cold doesn’t mean we all were,” Bitty said.

“Maybe I just know how to handle it better,” Jack said, tugging Bitty’s toque further down to cover his ears.

They’d wandered through the streets near Jack’s condo, walked by the river, and finally stepped into a warm coffee shop for lunch, Jack congratulating himself on finding a way to stop Bitty from cooking every meal while he was in Providence.

They’d returned to Jack’s condo and come to the rink, where Bitty was showing off his speed and his agility. And he didn’t even have his figure skates on yet. He’d improved by leaps and bounds since he was a freshman; Jack wouldn’t be surprised if he had NHL scouts after him by the time he graduated. 

After 25 minutes or so, Jack told Bitty that he was giving up, and Bitty could practice in his figure skates.

Bitty skated to the bench with him and pulled the bulky hockey skates off. He laced himself into the snug black leather boots of his figure skates and stood along the boards, stretching with one leg and then the other up along the top. 

Jack realized Bitty was all in black, from his dri-fit long-sleeved T to the slim workout pants and the skates. The blades on his feet flashed silver and his hair shone gold under the white lights. His body was lean and strong and Jack could see the muscles move, powerful like a spring, as he took himself through footwork and spins before doing a few jumps.

Jack always thought Bitty was beautiful, whether he was moping over his schoolwork or bouncing around the kitchen (more than once his mind had turned in a less-than-wholesome direction when Bitty bent over to take something out of the oven. Especially in those little shorts). But like this, moving gracefully, confidently, his face with a small smile and an expression of utter concentration, Bitty was breathtaking. How could he not know?

Because after the conversation they’d had at the airport, Jack had been paying attention. He loved Bitty, and he loved Bitty’s baking and Bitty’s cooking, and he enjoyed the challenge posed by trying to keep up with Bitty on the ice. _Bon Dieu,_ but he loved sex with Bitty, whether it was fast and desperate or slow and gentle they way it had been last night. But through these past two days, Jack couldn’t help feeling like Bitty was trying to prove himself, to show (Jack? himself?) that he was worthy. Not that Bitty had done anything he didn’t like to do, or that Jack had pushed him into anything. But Bitty had been relentless in a way he only was when there was something bothering him, like when he’d produce a dozen pies in two days at the Haus. He hadn’t lazed on the couch, except when Jack called him over. He’d barely checked his phone, or danced to Beyonce or whoever.

Jack couldn’t stand the thought that Bitty didn’t know … didn’t set a proper value on himself, just for being him, for being warm and kind and strong and brave.

He came out of his thoughts when he realized Bitty was moving towards him, face pink with exertion and smile wide now that he wasn’t working so hard.

“Ow,” he said. “I can’t wait to get these skates off my feet. I’m holding you to that foot rub.”

Jack smiled and shook his head. 

“I’m looking forward to it,” he said.

************************

Dec. 31, Bitty

Bitty had much of the day to himself, since the Falconers were riding up to Boston together for an abbreviated morning skate at TD Garden. That was fine; he still had more supplies to get for the dinner tomorrow, there was prep work to do, and he needed to finalize his plan of attack. While Jack wouldn’t be in the videos, he’d offered to help by holding the camera when necessary and doing whatever else he could.

Bitty had started by having him buy the bottle of prosecco for the grape sparklers on the way home the day before, adding with a glare, “And don’t you dare chirp me for being underage!”

There was chicken stock to make with carcasses of the two roast chickens Bitty had made the evening before. He’d planned the meal well, using much of the time the birds were in the oven to claim his foot massage, and he’d been charmed by the concentration Jack put into the task.

After dinner, Jack had insisted on taking the lead on the dishes, and then cuddled Bitty on the couch while a history documentary played at low volume on the TV.

They’d gone to bed early, as Jack’s schedule dictated, and Jack had held and caressed and kissed Bitty, whispering words of love, like Bitty was something precious, something to be treasured. Bitty had finally come with Jack stroking them both together.

This morning, there wasn’t time for much more than a few quick kisses before Jack was out the door, but Bitty had plenty to keep him busy until it would be time to drive Jack’s car into Boston, pick up Shitty and Lardo and park in the player’s lot at the Garden. Jack said several of the guys were planning to stay in Boston after the game and had wives or friends (girlfriends, probably, Bitty thought) bringing their cars down.

Once Bitty had his plan set for the vlog, he set his camera up on the tripod to make the marinade for the pork -- he wouldn’t put it in until morning -- crushed the grapes and reduced their juice and chopped vegetables for the soup and a side salad, narrating each segment as he did the work. When he was done, he stored the food in the fridge, washed his utensils and wiped down the counters before giving the floors a once-over.

Then he opened the suitcase he’d left by the door and pulled out his gift for Jack, a book of WWII propaganda posters that Lardo had helped him find. He wrapped it and set it on the coffee table. Then he wrapped his second gift, another one that Lardo helped him get: a Jack-sized Samwell jersey, emblazoned with “Bittle” and “15.” He thought about leaving it in the bedroom, but decided he didn’t need to make the hint that clear, and put it on the table next to the book.

Then he dressed again in Jack’s jersey, plucked Jack’s car keys from the hook by the door and left the apartment.

The game was brutal. It wasn’t as if Bitty was unaware of how rough hockey could be -- the aftereffects of his concussion freshman year lasted for months -- and Jack always played hard. But the Bruins and Falconers had become bitter rivals in the handful of years since Providence joined the league, and after losing to the Falcs on Tuesday, the Bruins had something to prove.

Bitty was glad he was watching it with Shitty and Lardo. Seated alone, in the middle of the sea of black and yellow, he would have stuck out like a sore thumb in his Providence blue.

Maybe the three of them were just as obvious, but he didn’t look like a lovelorn boy, crushing on an unattainable athlete. This way, he was just a Providence fan going to the game with friends, screaming at the refs for missing calls while the Bruins fans cheered, standing up and screaming themselves hoarse when the Falconers scored.

Jack’s scored on a sweet wrist shot in the second, but it wasn’t enough. The Bruins came out ahead this time, 3-1, and Jack looked dejected as he headed off the ice.

“Are you gonna come say hi to Jack?” Bitty asked as they gathered their things up.

“I don’t know, brah,” Shitty said. “You think he’s in the mood for company after that?”

“For you guys? Sure,” Bitty said, maybe sounding a little more confident than he felt. Having Shitty and Lardo wait with him outside the dressing room would preserve his camouflage as just another college friend. Besides, they were two of Jack’s closest friends, and Bitty knew it had been a few weeks since they’d been together.

He decided he guessed right when Jack emerged from the dressing room, his shirt just clinging a bit to damp skin, his suit jacket and trousers fitting way too well, and was enveloped in Shitty’s arms.

Tater followed Jack out and raised an eyebrow at Bitty, who shrugged.

“Shitty hugs everybody,” he said.

A moment later, Shitty released Jack and embraced Tater, who looked confused, but awkwardly raised his hands to pat Shitty’s back.

“Alexei Mashkov!” Shitty said, finally stepping back. “Fucking amazing. Ransom would swoon, I swear.”

“Tater, this is Shitty and Lardo,” Jack stepped in. “Friends from Samwell. They’re not joining us for dinner.”

Bitty giggled, Lardo smiled and Shitty laughed outright.

“Only because we have better plans, Jacky-boy,” Shitty said. “Well, happy New Year, I guess, and enjoy dinner. Good game, Jack, and, uh …”

“Tater,” Alexei said. “Is what everyone calls me.”

Lardo hugged first Jack and then Bitty tightly. “I’ll be back at the Haus on Sunday,” she told Bitty. “Talk more then?”

“Sure thing,” Bitty said.

After they left, Tater said, “I have something to ask of you.”

“OK?” Bitty said. 

“Do you mind if Poots comes with us?” Tater asked. “Is only that most of the team, they go out and drink, and he’s not old enough. I know he’s the same age as Bitty, so maybe he come with us?”

Bitty tried to mask his disappointment. It wasn’t like he and Jack could hold hands or act like boyfriends in public anyway, but this meant they would have to watch every word, as well. Still, it would only be friendly to offer Poots a way to avoid either hanging around with drunk guys while sober, or drinking himself and possibly getting caught and having that make the news.

Bitty felt Jack’s eyes on him, and he nodded. “Of course he can join us,” he said.

“You just don’t want to be a third wheel,” Jack chirped Tater.

“Third wheel?” Tater asked. “Never mind. Poots say he have car here, so we meet you at the restaurant.”

None of them drank at dinner, which might have disappointed their server if the group hadn’t tipped so heavily. Bitty hadn’t really seen much of Poots since August, and found, once they got to talking, that he liked him. Jack was quiet, occasionally laughing at Tater’s jokes, but mostly wrapped in the lassitude that tended to follow periods of intense physical and mental exertion. By 8 p.m., they were ready to leave the table for the first official New Year’s Eve seating, and they said goodbye to Tater and Poots when the valet brought Jack’s car up.

“You tired?” Bitty asked. “Want me to drive?”

“I’m fine, Bits,” Jack said. “I can drive. And I’ll even let you pick the music.”

Once they pulled away, Bitty put on a playlist of mellow music. Jack reached across the console and laid his hand, palm up, on Bitty’s thigh, and Bitty twined their fingers together as Jack navigated to I-95 and headed south.

An hour later, Jack pulled into his garage. “Awake there, Bud?” he asked.

“Of course I am,” Bitty said. “Ready for dessert? And presents?”

Bitty reflected on the oddness of leading Jack into his own condo, which Bitty had left set up for this evening. He saw Jack take in the presents on the table, the candles ready to be lit, the wine glasses on the counter.

“Let me get my present for you,” Jack said, and headed back out of the condo. “I'll be right back.”

They’d agreed to open presents on New Year’s Eve since they wouldn't be together on Christmas, and while Bitty would not have admitted it out loud, he felt the flutter of butterflies in his gut. This was the first time they had actually exchanged gifts. Sure, they'd been together for Jack's birthday, but Bitty's gift to him had been little more than a token, a photo album created with less than $50 worth of supplies and a few hours of Bitty’s time. For Bitty’s birthday, back when he thought a relationship like this with Jack was impossible, Jack had gone out and bought him an oven. Bitty knew Jack would argue that everyone else pitched in, and besides, the oven wasn’t really Bitty’s -- it would stay in the Haus when he graduated -- but even then, Bitty knew Jack had made it happen, and that Jack had done it for him.

So he’d talked to Jack when they planned this visit, and they’d agreed that their gifts would not be extravagant.

“So I can’t buy you a car then?” Jack had joked. Or at least Bitty thought he was joking.

Jack had balked at putting a strict monetary cap on it, and anyway, Bitty supposed, that would have flown out the window with the addition of a plane ticket to Nashville. Which they still needed to talk about, Bitty thought, but not tonight.

Bitty poured the wine and turned the TV to a New Year’s show with the volume down and a playlist of slow, sultry holiday songs on the Bluetooth speaker. He lit the candles and breathed deeply, inhaling the scents of balsam and cloves and cinnamon. He wondered what Jack could have gotten that he didn’t store in the condo. It’s not like Bitty would have looked for it. Much.

The door clicked open and Jack walked into the living room carrying a box so huge it obscured Jack from the hips up, wrapped in red paper with a white.

“Jack! We said no cars!” Bitty chirped.

“Haha,” Jack said, setting the box down and setting on the carpet next to the coffee table.

Bitty joined him on the floor and said, “So how do you want to do this? You want to pick one to open first, then I can open mine, and then you can open your second one?”

“I got you two, too,” Jack said.

“I know you said you’d buy me the plane ticket, but that’s not exactly something to open,” Bitty said.

“No, I mean, there’s another one inside that,” Jack said.

Bitty gave an exasperated huff.

“Unless that’s a big box of packing peanuts, I think maybe you overbought,” he said.

“But I saw it and thought of you,” Jack said. “It fits in the car no problem, so you can decide if you want to leave it here or take it to the Haus.”

“Well, now I have to find out,” Bitty said. He slid the bow off and ran his fingers down the seam in the paper, loosening the tape, and pulled the wrapping away. In front of him was a antique pie safe, made out of pine, with pierced metalwork doors. It stood a little less than three feet tall, and was maybe 18 inches deep and almost two feet wide. 

“The dealer said that it had been varnished, then painted and then stripped, and it’s not really worth a lot because of that, so I went ahead and had it refinished,” Jack said. 

“It’s gorgeous,” Bitty said. “But these things cost, like, hundreds of dollars.”

“Well, like I said, it wasn’t in very good shape,” Jack said. “And Maman was buying a couple of things, so the dealer was willing to let it go at a discount.”

“Your mother? When did you buy this?” 

“Um, this summer? When my parents were visiting?” Jack said. “We went to this little antique mall, and I wanted to buy this for you. But I had to get it fixed up first, and then there really wasn’t a good time to give it to you. Is it OK?”

“‘Is it OK?’ he asks,” Bitty said. “I love it. It’s beautiful.”

Bitty leaned over and kissed him.

“Thank you,” he said.

“There’s something inside, too,” Jack said. “Open it.”

Bitty pulled the door open and found another package wrapped in the same paper on the shelf. It felt like -- a three-ring binder?

He tore the paper off to find “My Better Homes and Gardens Cook Book.” The binder was in good shape, although the pages had yellowed a bit.

“It’s blue, Jack!” he said. “When is it from? I thought they always had the red and white plaid covers.”

“They guy at the bookstore said this is the only edition that’s blue,” Jack said. “It was printed in 1937, but the recipes are the same as in the original 1930 edition.”

“You’re a history nerd, but I love you,” Bitty said, kissing Jack again. “Now you.”

He handed Jack the package with the propaganda book. “Maybe you’ll like this.”

Jack did like it, Bitty thought. He really, genuinely liked it, paging through the images and pausing at ones that caught his eye.

“Thanks, Bits,” he said. “This is great. I love you.”

“One more, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty said, picking up the second package. He’d folded and rolled the jersey to get it to fit in a large shoe box, so he was pretty sure Jack wouldn’t guess from the shape of the package.

Jack tore the paper off and pulled the jersey out.

“How did you get this?” he asked.

Bitty shrugged. He knew the NCAA didn’t allow the sale of jerseys with players’ names on them, but Lardo had helped talk Hall and Murray into giving up a used jersey that needed to be mended, then got a friend to not only mend it, but add on the nameplate and numbers at a price Bitty could afford.

“Lardo helped me,” he said.

Jack immediately took off his button-down and put the jersey on. Bitty almost teared up at seeing Jack in Samwell red again.

“Bitty, this is … wow,” Jack said. “Thank you.”

“Looks good on you,” Bitty managed to say before Jack surged into him with a kiss and he found himself on his back on the carpet, Jack kissing at his neck.

Bitty giggled.

“Aren’t we a pair?” he said. “Me in your jersey and you in mine.”

Jack chuckled and said, “I know I like seeing you in mine. I hope you like me wearing yours as much.”

“Jack Zimmermann, are you suggesting that my gift to you will benefit me as well?” Bitty said, wriggling back to a sitting position and draining his glass. “Look -- it’s quarter to 12. What do you say we get the champagne and move to the bedroom? You can wear the jersey.”

By the time they extinguished the candles and collected the the champagne, glasses and Bitty’s phone, it was 10 minutes to midnight. Jack poured them champagne while Bitty turned the covers back and lit the candles he’d distributed around the room. They both shucked their pants and then Jack pulled Bitty close. Jack’s mouth tasted sweet from the champagne, and his kisses were long and lingering.

Bitty let his hands wander, from Jack’s hair, across the number 15 on his back, over the wonder that was his ass, down and then up his thighs. Jack responded by pulling Bitty closer, his hands holding Bitty’s hips as Bitty all but rode Jack’s thigh, Jack’s erection pressed into Bitty’s abdomen.

The kisses turned filthy as their bodies ground together, and when Jack’s hands started moving, pulling Bitty’s buttocks apart, his fingers trailing down the cleft, Bitty pulled back far enough to say, 

“Jack, tonight.”

“Mmm, tonight what, Lapin?” Jack murmured into his hair.

“Tonight, I want you to … I want you inside me,” Bitty said, grateful that the light was dim and he was already flushed, because he knew he had gone lobster red. He’d meant to say, “I want you to fuck me,” and why was that so hard? Because he did want that, so very much.

And now Jack had pulled away to look at Bitty’s face.

“Really, Bits?” he said. “You want me to … you want that?”

“I do,” Bitty breathed.

“You’re not just saying that because you think I want it?”

“No, I do want it,” Bitty said. “Do you want it?”

“ _Crisse,_ Bits, of course I do,” Jack said.

“Well, then.” Bitty said, sitting on the bed. 

At that moment, they heard fireworks.

“Happy New Year, Jack,” Bitty said.

Jack straddled Bitty’s hips and kissed him.

“Happy New Year, Bits.”

**********************

Jan. 1, Jack

Jack's eyes were bleary and his fingers were going to cramp.

He'd been holding Bitty’s small camera forever, it felt like, while Bitty finished assembling all the dishes for his New Year’s menu.

But Jack was not going to complain. He was not going to chirp his boyfriend, not least because Bitty was recording his own narration and Jack's voice would mess it up.

Besides, it was nearly noon. Puck drop for the Canadiens vs. the Bruins at Foxborough was at one, and Bitty had said they’d eat during the game. So this had to end soon.

Jack followed Bitty with the camera when he put the pot on the stove to heat the soup. Bitty paused, then cleared his throat.

“Uh, you can turn that off now,” Bitty said. “All that's left is to grill the meat, but I can clean this up first. If you could help by recording me putting the meat on, maybe checking it once, and then taking it off, that would be great. But I can use the tripod for the final presentation shots. I know this is tedious.”

“It's not, really,” Jack said, and it was mostly true. Mostly he was impressed at how much effort and care Bitty put into recording for his vlog. “Do you always work this hard at this?”

Jack thought Bitty looked a little affronted, so he continued. “It’s just that we lived in the Haus together for a year, and I never saw you spend hours on something like this.”

“Well, I wouldn’t when y’all were home, would I?” Bitty asked. “Lord, I’d have to record for three hours to get 10 usable minutes, all the noise you boys make. No, I do quicker things, things I’ve already tested out, that I can record maybe in one or two 15-minute segments? Then I do the intros and the part where I talk to the camera from my room and edit them together.”

That still sounded time-consuming to Jack, and he suspected he was starting to understand why Bitty had such a hard time getting his classwork done. And why Bitty didn’t think his schedule this summer -- what with a full-time job, part-time job, side business and vlogging -- was entirely unreasonable.

“I don’t know,” Bitty said, when Jack voiced that thought. “I mean, I used to be way more casual about it, but over the last six or eight months, I’ve gotten a lot of new subscribers, and I’m getting more in advertising money, so I feel like I have to be a little more professional.”

“Good for you, Bitty,” Jack said. “You should have said before. That’s great!”

“It’s still not much,” Bitty said. “I mean, $150 is still a good month for me, and …”

“And it’s important, because you’re good at it, and people like your vlog,” Jack said.

Jack remembered watching almost all of Bitty’s vlog, from his early teen years on, shortly after graduation. At the time, he’d been fascinated by watching Bitty’s growth -- both physically and in the way he presented himself -- but now he remembered how much the videos themselves had changed. Everything from the camera angles and composition of the shots to the sound quality had gotten better. Bitty also spent time in the comments, answering questions about the recipes and sometimes responding to compliments or funny comments.

Since then, Jack had only looked at the vlog a handful of times, usually when Bitty mentioned something he wanted Jack to see. Each time he felt like he was being let in on a secret, but maybe he should have paid more attention? How much time did Bitty spend watching his games? It wouldn’t kill him to spend 10 minutes watching his boyfriend on YouTube once a week or so. He knew Bitty didn’t want the team to see it -- he called it “worlds colliding” even though Jack didn’t think they’d be surprised by anything on it -- but he had given Jack permission to watch.

Bitty was now drying the prep dishes and pulling the pork tenderloin from the fridge.

“Ready to start again?” he said, heading for the small balcony off the kitchen. “I’ll just fire up the grill and we can put these on. Once they’re done, while they’re resting, I’ll shower and change and then we can do the presentation shot on the island in the kitchen, and then we can eat. Sound good?”

Bitty was good at being in charge, Jack thought. Even last night, Bitty had been the one leading Jack, telling him what he wanted, making sure Jack was comfortable with everything they did, letting Jack know what felt good with his gasps and sighs and moans.

And _tabarnak,_ was it good. Jack had certainly fantasized what it would be like to have Bitty under him, to be able to feel Bitty‘s ass tight around his cock, to watch himself disappear inside Bitty. He hadn’t imagined the play of candlelight on Bitty’s face, the sheen of perspiration on his chest, the strength in his hands when he clutched at Jack’s arms and shoulders, the way he looked when he threw his head back in pleasure. Jack had only just managed to hang onto his control until Bitty came, shuddering under him and spasming around him, and it had been so different -- so much better -- that anything Jack had ever experienced.

He realized that Bitty was waiting for a response, and was looking at Jack’s flushed face with an amused expression. Jack was pretty sure Bitty knew exactly what he was thinking about.

“Uh, fine, sure,” Jack said. “There’s a package from my dad that you should probably open before you get dressed.”

Bitty grilled the tenderloins, then set them on the counter. Jack fetched the package -- something soft in an oversized envelope addressed to Eric Bittle, in care of J Zimmermann, at Jack’s address.

Bitty opened it before going to shower and found what Jack had expected -- a replica of his father’s Habs jersey.

Bitty read the enclosed note aloud. “Dear Eric, I saw on Twitter that you have Jack's jersey.” He stopped and looked up. “What? How?”

“My dad follows you on Twitter.” Jack shrugged. “Didn't you tweet from the game all the Samwell guys came to?”

“That was once!” Bitty said. Then he continued reading. “Thought you might like one of mine too. You can wear it for the Winter Classic. Love, Bob. -- Jack, he signed it ‘love.’”

“My parents really care about you,” Jack said. “Was that not OK?”

“And there, in parentheses, he put ‘Mr. Jack's dad,’” Bitty went on. “Lord. Of course it's fine, Jack. Just let me send him a thank-you note …”

“Bits. Shower, video, hockey game,” Jack said. “You can wear the jersey and we can take a selfie during the game and send it to him with a thank-you.”

“You're right,” Bitty said.

In the end, they were sitting down just before the opening face-off, a few minutes after one. At the first stoppage in play, Bitty took a selfie of the two of them on Jack’s couch. Jack gave him Bob’s email address so he could send it off with a quick note at intermission. Bitty was surprised to get a reply before play started again -- “Looking good!” -- but Jack wasn't surprised when his phone vibrated as well.

 _It's good to see you so happy,_ his father wrote. 

The game ended well, a 5-1 victory for the Canadiens, but all too soon.

Jack stood and stretched and said, “I've got about two hours before I have to leave for the airport. Want to clean up?”

Bitty smirked and said, “If by that you mean, do I want to go cuddle on the bed and see where our filthy minds take us, then yes. I can clean the kitchen and do the dishes later.”

“Fine,” Jack said. “But this time, you do have to take the jersey off.”

**********************

Jan. 2, Bitty

Bitty woke alone in Jack’s bed.

That wasn’t unusual; Jack often went for an early-morning run while Bitty slept in when he was visiting. But it felt different, having gone to sleep alone and knowing Jack wouldn’t be back until late tonight.

Bitty reached for his phone: 7:30 a.m. That’s what he got for going to bed at 10:30. Well, when in Jack’s home, he thought, as he rooted in his duffel bag for running clothes. He might was well get some exercise in.

Once he hit the pavement, earbuds in and gloves and hat on, he let his mind wander to the evening before. When he suggested some fooling-around time before Jack left, he’d been hoping for some making out: kissing and holding each other, maybe letting their hands wander, maybe even a hand job.

Because as much as he’d liked it when Jack fucked him the night before that (he could say it to himself; why couldn’t he say it to Jack?) he thought he needed a little time before they did that again. And he had liked it, more than he expected. He’d wanted it, but mostly as a way to feel closer to Jack. Sure, he’d seen gay porn and read about anal sex on the Internet, and he didn’t precisely disbelieve all the sources that said it was immensely pleasurable (if it was done right, those sources always insisted), but he’d always thought it would be awfully … uncomfortable.

Now, with the experience of doing it one time, he could say that both he and the things he read were right. It had been uncomfortable, at first. He’d wanted it, so much, all but begged Jack to get on with it when Jack took his time fingering and stretching him. But then Jack’s cock was impossibly bigger and pushed in further and made him feel so _full_ , and it didn’t hurt exactly, but it felt really strange. It felt better when Jack started to move, and then, when Jack brushed his prostate the first time (yes, he knew what that was, thank you very much, he told the disbelieving audience in his head), it had been wonderful. The pleasure seemed to radiate from within him, and come from Jack’s body all around him, and the way Jack looked at him, and murmured French endearments and cried out French curses … yeah, he definitely wanted that again. But not until after his ass felt normal.

Yesterday, when he suggested heading to bed for the couple of hours before Jack left, Jack helped him out of the Habs jersey Bad Bob sent, looked at him like he wanted to devour him, and said, “Do you think I can make you come twice before I have to go?” and Bitty had nearly swooned.

It turned out Jack had other ways in mind to make Bitty come, one of which did involve Bitty’s ass, but it also involved Jack’s tongue and lips, which were soothing and maddening in equal measure.

Bitty got his own back, fingering Jack while he sucked him off, listening to Jack lose control as his hips shifted between fucking himself on Bitty’s fingers and fucking Bitty’s mouth. Jack was still coming when Bitty pulled back and let some of Jack’s semen land on his chin and lips and cheek; Jack had pulled him up and licked it off his face and Bitty was pretty damned proud of himself. And definitely hard enough for a second go-round.

After that, they had napped for about 20 minutes before Jack said it was time to shower, and then Bitty had driven him to the airport. Jack said that would mean Bitty had the car today, in case he wanted to go anywhere, and Bitty couldn’t help but think how domestic the whole conversation sounded, almost like they were married and settled down.

Bitty was back from the airport by 8:30 p.m., and it didn’t take long to wash up and tidy the condo. He knew it was gross, but he left the sheets on the bed so they would still smell like Jack. He could wash them this morning.

As he pounded back towards the condo, Bitty considered the rest of the day. He had several hours of editing work ahead of him, and he had a couple of hours worth of cooking to put together the dinners he had planned to freeze for Jack. He could even record some of that -- maybe a vlog post on meals that freeze well?

There should be time for a run to the kitchen store for some inexpensive pie tins. Then he could make a couple to leave with Jack, and he could tell Jack how much he appreciated the use of the car. Heck, he could even go to Samwell and back, but no one would be there anyway.

After showering, throwing in laundry and putting together breakfast, Bitty uploaded the video and plotted out three videos based on his cooking from the past two days. 

After he finished the first -- on the desserts he had made -- he took a break to assemble a lasagna for the freezer, narrating to the camera as he went.

He made a quick trip to the kitchen supply store -- he may or may not have bought rabbit-shaped potholders to leave in the drawer for Jack to find -- and to the supermarket for more ingredients. Then he edited his second video, this one on the lucky foods of New Year’s, ate lunch, changed the laundry, and put together turkey and black bean enchiladas for the freezer.

He didn’t want to just sit back down at the kitchen island. It was a lovely kitchen, but he needed a change of scene, so he packed up his laptop and headed for a coffee shop he’d been to with Jack.

There, he called up the Samwell spring semester course catalogue. He knew he was taking French again, but other than that, he was open. His American studies major allowed courses from a variety of disciplines: history, sociology, political science. He did have to get an econ credit out of the way.

He read through the options, then heard an email ping on his phone. He opened the email app on his computer to see a note from Sam.

_Hey, Eric --_

_Just checking to see if you really want to come the weekend of the 16th. I’m headed back to school tomorrow, and I can tell the team that you’ll be visiting. Also, I can ask my roommate to make alternate arrangements. He’s usually at his girlfriend’s on the weekend anyway._

_No pressure, just thought I’d check in._

_Sam_

Eric tapped his fingers against his mouth and thought. He finally wrote back:

 

_Hi, Sam,_

_I’d still love to come, but we don’t have practice til Monday and I want to check with the coaches in person. We don’t have games that weekend as far as I know, but I’m sure I’ll miss practice. If Jack can get us tickets to the Falconers’ game, would you want to bring your girlfriend too? Eric_

The reply came by text within the minute: _you think he’d do that? If it’s not a problem, sure._

Bitty let a small huff escape him. It was so not a problem, he thought. _I really don’t think he minds,_ Bitty wrote back.

Then he texted Jack, _Sam was wondering if we could three tickets to your game in Nashville. He seemed to think it would be an imposition. Good luck tonight! I’ll be watching from home._

He didn’t realize what he said until the text was sent, and for a moment, he thought about trying to take it back. Then his phone buzzed with an incoming text from Jack. _Love you too, Bits. No problem on the tickets, and if you want to explain why you’re staying with me Saturday, it’s OK. If you trust him, so do I. I’ll be home a little after 12. Don’t worry about coming to pick me up. I’ll get a ride from the airport._

There was a pause, and then:

_A ride home, I mean._

Then there was a house emoji and a smiley face.

Bitty texted back a string of hearts and blushy faces, then picked up his laptop and walked home.

Jan. 3, Jack

Jack leaned on the boards, watching as Bitty threw himself into a spin. They had skated together -- in hockey skates -- for a while before Bitty switched to the figure skates and started doing footwork.

Jack startled as George settled her elbows on the boards beside him.

“He’s good,” she said.

“Yeah, he is,” Jack said. “He keeps telling me it’s nothing compared to when he was competing.”

“I don’t know if I’d believe he went from this to hockey if I hadn’t seen him play,” George said.

“It’s still OK that we’re here?” Jack asked. “You said it would be fine if there wasn’t anyone else scheduled.”

“No, it’s fine,” George said. “I just came in to pick up some paperwork and saw the lights on. I thought it might be you and Eric. He really gave you a workout out there.”

Jack felt his face color. Of course George was just talking about when they were skating around on the ice, and they’d been careful even though they thought they were alone.

“He does,” Jack said. “Somehow, whatever we start out doing, it ends up in some kind of race.”

“You didn’t overextend yourself, did you? I thought this was supposed to be a rest day for you guys,” George said.

“Nah,” Jack said. “It was only for a little while.”

“Were you going full speed?” George asked.

“Of course,” Jack said. “He’d be furious if I didn’t.”

“Wow,” she said. “Then he really has gotten faster.”

They watched in silence for a little while longer, and then Jack said, “What do I do to get Eric on my emergency contacts list?”

“It’s like that, is it?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“My parents are all the way in Montreal,” Jack said. “Eric’s just up in Samwell.”

“Right,” she said. “Well, I’ll email you the form. Fill it out, print it and sign it and get it back to me.”

She paused, then said, “I’m not telling you how to run your life, and I know you don’t want your personal life all over the tabloids, but do any of your teammates know about Eric? It might make things easier, and I’d like to think I’ve done a good enough job here that it wouldn’t be an issue.”

“Tater knows,” Jack said. “He’s fine with it.”

“I’m glad,” George said. “Eric’s a fine young man.”

Jack nodded, and neither of them said anything until Bitty skated over.

“Hi, Ms. Martin,” he said. “I hope I wasn’t putting anyone out.”

“No, you’re fine, Eric,” she said. “And call me George. I just came in to get something from my office and saw the lights so I thought I’d say hello. Going back to school soon?”

“This afternoon,” Bitty said. “But I’ve been wanting to break these skates in.”

“You skate beautifully,” Georgia said. “Don’t be a stranger. Next time you’re in town come and say hi, maybe say hello to Tina.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bitty said.

George left and Bitty changed out of his skates.

“Ready for lunch?” Jack said.

“I'm starving,” Bitty said. “Can I ask you something?”

Jack nodded as they started walking to the car.

“Did you tell George about us?”

“Uh, not really,” Jack said. “I did ask for you to be on my emergency contact list, and she may have taken that as confirmation of what she previously inferred, and I didn't deny it. That's OK, isn't it?”

“Of course,” Bitty said. “I just wanted to know if she knew. I’d scream it from the rooftops if I could.”

Jack held back a smirk. 

“You mean put it on Twitter?”

Bitty smiled and said, “And Insta.”

“Did I tell you Tina lets me post now without reviewing the pictures first?”

Bitty's smile grew wider. “You mean you have the same freedom as every 13-year-old out there?” he chirped.

“Be quiet,” Jack said, leaning across the console to kiss Bitty briefly.

“I'm sorry,” Bitty said. “The picture you posted of your parents playing Scrabble at Christmas was adorable. So was the one of your dad with the roast.”

“I’ve got parents that people want to see,” Jack said. “Might as well use it, eh? And they don’t seem to mind.”

“No, they’re really proud of you,” Bitty said. “And not just about hockey. Sometimes I think you forget that.”

Jack was quiet for a few minutes while he drove to the little restaurant that had become his favorite spot to have lunch out. Finally, he said, “I know that, and I try not to forget,” he said.

“Jack, I know how much hockey means to you, but anyone with eyes who spends any time with your family can see how much you mean to them,” Bitty said. “I mean, it’s kind of like how you knew it would be OK for me to come out to my parents when I wasn’t sure about it. Sometimes it’s easier for other people to see, because our parents, well, to us, they’re not just other people. They’re the ones that we always depended on, the ones we wanted to make proud and not disappoint. But maybe that’s one way we’re alike -- we both put way more onto ourselves than our parents ever did. But your parents love you, and would be proud of you even if you quit hockey tomorrow, and you deserve that.”

Jack took a moment to think that over, because there was so much there to respond to. Bitty could babble forever without addressing anything important, especially when he was nervous, but sometimes he could pack so much into a few sentences, and Jack had learned that he had to really listen to get it all.

He waited until they sat down in a booth to say, “First, I do understand that I deserve it, but it’s not that simple,” he said. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember that, or get past the feeling that I need to earn it somehow. But I also need to tell you the same thing: you deserve love, and having your family be proud of you, and everything else, too, Bits. When you act like you can’t believe that someone like me -- when you call me an NHL star or something like that -- cares about someone like you, it doesn’t make sense to me. Because sometimes I can’t figure out why someone like you -- so strong, so kind, so beautiful -- would want someone as messed up as me.”

Bitty started to interrupt, but Jack pushed on.

“Please, just listen a minute,” Jack said. “I know I was an asshole to you at first. I didn’t understand how you would benefit the team -- or, to be honest, how having you on the team would benefit me. And then you practically moved into the Haus -- sometimes it seemed like you lived in the kitchen -- and everyone else who lived there fell in love with you, and I didn’t get it, and I didn’t try to get it because, um, I guess I just didn’t see the point. And maybe I was a little jealous that you could walk in and charm all my friends who were supposed to be on my side. And that was wrong. I feel like I should call Hall and Murray and thank them again for insisting that you could help us, because that’s what made me try to help you. But even that was selfish because I thought it was the only way to make you better.”

“It did make me better,” Bitty said.

“It made you better at taking a check,” Jack said. “But spending time with you made me better in so many ways. I guess at the root was that spending time with you just made me happy. I never laughed as much as I did with you, even though I could tell you were scared so much of the time. I never saw anybody work so hard against their own mind, and I admired you for it, even back then.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, I feel like I made you earn my --- I don’t know, respect? Approval? -- and that wasn’t fair, and I need you to know that I love you because you’re you, and you don’t have to do anything to earn that.”

“But it did make me better, at hockey,” Bitty said. “And I wasn’t your boyfriend or even your friend. I was just a player on your team. And in hockey -- or in football, or in any other sport -- you do have to earn a spot on the team or in the lineup or whatever. I mean, sometimes you could have been nicer maybe, but don’t forget, once you started working on checking with me, I got to know you better, too. I got to see the captain who would get up at 4 to help a teammate rather than let me fail, and the captain who understood my panic and was actually really gentle about getting me through it, and who would laugh at my stupid comments and chirp me right back. You have nothing to regret.”

“I don’t know,” Jack said. “After talking to your dad last week, it just made me think you’ve felt like you had to prove yourself to a lot of people for a long time, and I probably made that worse.”

“Wait, what did you talk about?” Bitty asked. “I thought he was giving you a shovel talk, which is like, beyond embarrassing and I was so mortified I was going to just pretend it never happened.”

“It was kinda like that,” Jack said. “And like he was … asking my intentions? Not if I was going to marry you or anything, but just making sure I took this seriously. He said you were a very special man, and he was proud of you, and he knew you cared about me, and he wanted to make sure I knew how valuable that was, because he knew it wouldn’t be easy with my career.”

Bitty buried his face in his hands and Jack could see that his ears were pink.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“No, don’t be,” Jack said. “The only thing I took exception to was that I knew he never made that clear to you, how much he valued you and how proud he was of you. I may have said something about that to him. Anyway, he said he knew, and he’d been trying.”

Bitty looked up, still pink.

“Well, that makes some of the conversations we had last summer make more sense at least,” he said. “How did you get from there to hockey?”

“He said too many people underestimate you, and he asked if that was the way it was at school, too, so I was telling him how good you are,” Jack said. “I really don’t think he knows.”

Bitty looked like he was chewing that over in his mind. 

“He could know,” he said. “If he’d come to watch me play.”

“Yes,” Jack said, “he could have. But he didn’t, and now he wants to. Are you OK with that?”

“I guess it’s the best I can do,” Bitty said, “and the best he can do.”

Jack knew he shouldn’t be surprised. Bitty had given him chance after chance, too. But he wasn’t sure he could forgive Bitty’s father as easily. He would have a hard time forgiving anyone who hurt Bitty.

After lunch, they went back to the condo to pack Bitty’s things. He ended up leaving the pie safe with Jack, because, he said, he knew Lardo and the boys wouldn’t hurt something he cared about, but at the first kegster, all bets were off,

“Besides,” he said, “I’ll have to come more often to see my pie safe.”

“If that’s what it takes,” Jack said.

The ride to Samwell seemed to go more quickly than usual, and then he and Bitty were in the Haus, saying hello to Lardo, putting his bags away.

“I should go,” Jack said. “We have an early start tomorrow, and you’re going to have a long day. But I’ll see you in less than two weeks, right? I’ll send you the flight information.”

Bitty nodded, and gave a watery smile.

“It won’t be long,” he said. “And I’ve got to get started on a pie for these boys.”

Lardo was upstairs, probably making herself scarce on purpose, when Jack pulled Bitty into his arms, kissed him softly, and said, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Bits said. “See you soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the recipes for [grape sparklers,](http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/grape-sparklers) [lentil and green collard soup,](https://www.google.com/amp/s/allrecipes.com/recipe/137450/lentil-and-green-collard-soup/amp/) [orange and brandy cake,](http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/new-years-orange-and-brandy-cake-236812) and [](http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/pecan-shortbread-cookies-106027>pecan%20shortbread%20cookies</a>!)


	3. Nashville

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty visits Sam when Jack is playing in Nashville.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and Merry Christmas, everyone!  
> Not beta'd, so tell me if you see something that needs to be corrected.  
> NSFW content at the end of Jan. 16 and the beginning of Jan. 17. Not important plot-wise, but speaks to increasing intimacy.

Jan. 15, Jack

Jack settled his bag on the too-soft hotel bed and sighed.

It was the third city -- the third hotel -- in a week, and he was tired of traveling.

Tater came into the room behind him, putting his bag on the other bed and groaning. It was still early, but Jack would have been happy to crawl into bed, watch some tape of the Predators’ backup goalie, who was expected to start tomorrow, then Skype with Bitty and go to sleep.

“Zimmboni, you come eat dinner with us?” Tater said. “Poots and Thirdy coming, maybe Marty. Come on, better than food in hotel.”

“I don’t know, Tater,” Jack said.

“You want to be alone to talk to Bitty?” Tater said, a knowing gleam in his eye.

“Not yet,” Jack said. “He has a game tonight. It won’t end for another hour or so, so we can’t Skype until later.”

“I tell you what,” Tater said. “You come for dinner now, then when we get back and you want to talk to Bitty, I go hang out with Poots and Thirdy. They should have PlayStation set up by then.”

“All right, if it means that much to you,” Jack said. “Just give me a minute to change.”

Dinner turned out well in the end, Jack thought. The barbecue place Poots and Thirdy picked was good and even offered some healthy options, and it was loud and crowded enough that they didn’t draw much attention. Poots was fitting into the team well, and the group that went included some of Jack’s favorite teammates. He might have relaxed too much; he found himself offering opinions on southern cooking, much to the amusement of Thirdy and Marty; he had to be saved by Tater, who chirped him for having taken a food class in college. Never mind that the class had not taught him a thing about collard greens.

His phone started to vibrate insistently in his pocket near the end of the meal, and when he checked, there were several notifications on his Samwell group chat, congratulating the current team members on a win.

He silenced the phone without opening any of the messages. Bitty could tell him about the game later, and he didn’t need his teammates to use his loyalty to his old team as chirp material.

They walked back to the hotel with their jackets open, reveling in January weather in the 40s. When they arrived, Tater followed Jack back to their room. 

“You talk to Bitty now?” he asked. “I'm saying hello before I go.”

“Sure thing,” Jack said, texting Bitty and opening his laptop. 

When the call connected, Tater was crowding himself into the frame before Jack could say, “Tater’s here. He wants to say hello.”

“Hi, Bitty.” Tater smiled and waved. “Thank you for the cookies! I like the oatmeal ones with the cranberries.”

“You’re welcome,” Bitty said. “I'll keep that in mind.”

“OK, I'm going now,” he said. “Zimmboni text me when he ready for me to come back.”

“Thanks, Tater,” Bitty said. “You really could stay. I hate putting you out of your own room.”

“I no mind,” Tater said. “Have to go smash Poots at Mario.”

“I think he means he's playing Smash Brothers with Poots,” Jack said. “At least I hope that's what he means.”

“To think I was worried when you said you told him about me,” Bitty said. “He's kind of like a big, shaggy dog watching out for us.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “I knew I should have asked you first, but I just kind of slipped when he asked me about my girlfriend for like the millionth time. I knew he was concerned that I'd never introduced her, and I was pretty sure he wouldn't do anything to out us if I told him. He kind of saved me at dinner tonight, when I started talking too much about the food.”

When Jack first told Tater, he hadn’t meant to blurt it out. He remembered saying “I really don’t have a girlfriend. I mean, I’m not dating a girl. I’m dating a boy,” and then the way Tater had swept him up in a bear hug, saying “The Bitty baker? Wonderful. Thank you for trusting me.”

It had been all Jack could do to stop himself from adding “with this moment” to Tater’s sentence. Seriously, if Tater wasn't Russian and a giant, he and Shitty could have been separated at birth.

When Jack came back to the conversation on his laptop, Bitty was saying, “I'll make extra cookies for tomorrow then. If I don’t get a chance to see Tater, you can take them back to Providence.”

Now that Tater was gone, Jack took a moment to just gaze at Bitty. He was nowhere near done looking when he realized something was off. The left side of Bitty’s face looked red, as did his ear, and though his smile was wide, his eyes were tight.

“You look like you're in pain,” Jack said. “What's wrong?”

“It's really nothing,” Bitty said.

Jack used his captain voice.

“Bits, tell me what happened,” Jack said.

“Just a nasty hit,” Bitty said. “Elbow to the head. But no concussion symptoms, I swear. I missed a couple of shifts, but when I went back in I scored. Again.”

Now he looked proud, even if he still hurt.

“Again?” Jack said. “How many did you score?”

“Two, and an assist,” Bitty said.

“That's great,” Jack said. “I'm proud of you, bud. Especially for getting back out there after you got hit.”

“And I'm officially excused from practice Sunday, so I can visit with a clear conscience,” Bitty said.

“Because of the hit?” Jack asked.

Bitty shrugged.

“Maybe a little?” he said. “Murray wanted me to take it easy. But I told them I had an invitation to visit someone, too, so he might have excused me anyway. I don’t miss many practices.”

“All right,” Jack said. “You’re sure you’re OK?”

“Yes, Jack, I promise,” Bitty said. “I’m fine.”

“And you have your boarding pass printed out and everything? Sorry it’s so early, but it was the only non-stop flight that got in any time before mid-afternoon.”

“That’s fine,” Bitty said. “I’ll sleep on the plane. Sam has practice, but his girlfriend is picking me up. Tickets will be at the box office, right?”

“Yes, three of them,” Jack said. “Meet me at the hotel after the game? I’ll text you the room number and leave a key at the desk. The team’s taking the bus right to the airport from the arena. I told them I had a meeting for an endorsement deal, so I’d catch up Sunday.”

“I’ll be there,” Bitty said. “Can’t wait to see you. I know it’s been less than two weeks, but I really miss you.”

“Love you, Bits,” Jack said. “I miss you too.”

“I love you too.”

***********************

Jan. 16, Bitty

Bitty stretched and pulled his book bag from under the seat in front of him. He’d had to check a bag because Sam said his coach might let him skate with the team, and there was no way to take skates in a carry-on. That meant he had nothing in the overhead bin, but he still had to wait for everyone ahead of him to retrieve their belongings..

At least Jack had booked him on Southwest. It might be the Greyhound of the skies, but they didn’t charge extra to check his duffel and they ran on time. Besides, he wasn’t Jack; he didn’t have to worry about being recognized or even about lack of leg room.

He made his way slowly off the plane while he thumbed a text to Angelica, Sam’s girlfriend.

_Just landed. I’ll grab my bag and text you when I head outside so you can pick me up._

Sam had sent her number and snapshot of her when he realized he’d be unable to come get Bitty himself because of practice.

“I gave her your number and a picture from when I was in Boston so she’ll recognize you, too,” Sam had said. Bitty sincerely hoped the picture wasn’t of them dancing at the kegster.

The girl in the picture was blond, with long hair pulled back into ponytail and not much makeup on fair skin. Her blue eyes were crinkled up in laughter, like Sam had snapped the picture just after telling her a joke. Bitty hoped the joke hadn’t been about him.

Then he gave himself a mental shake. Yes, he was back in the south, but this wasn’t high school, and Sam, who was turning out to be a good friend, really liked Angelica, so chances were they’d get along. 

His phone buzzed with an incoming text from Angelica.

_I already parked. Meet you by baggage claim._

He made it to the baggage carousel and looked around, spotting the girl from the photo almost immediately.

“Angelica?” he said. “I’m Eric Bittle. Thanks for coming to get me.”

Angelica smiled and reached out for a quick hug.

“Of course,” she said. “I’m so glad to meet you. Sam’s told me so much about you!”

“Then you know I bake,” Eric said, putting his book bag on the floor and bending down to rummage in it. He came up with a bag of cookies, chocolate chip with cranberries.

“There’s more in my bag, but I wanted to give these to you,” he said. “That way, I know you’ll actually get some. I didn’t know what you liked, but these are pretty popular, and there’s no nuts in case you have allergies.”

Angelica laughed, but in a delighted way, Bitty thought.

“I was hoping to get a taste of your baking,” she said. “But I didn’t expect it this soon! We can break into them on the way to the rink. Sam asked me to take you there -- his practice starts just about now.”

“Well, you should know pie is really my specialty,” Bitty said. “But cookies travel better.”

Yes, he thought, he could definitely get along with her.

After Bitty collected his duffel, Angelica led the way to her car, a Toyota Corolla that looked almost as old as she was, only with more miles. He slung his bag in the back seat and sat down on the passenger side, helpfully opening the bag of cookies while Angelica fastened her seat belt.

“Oh my God, Eric, these are so good,” she said after her first bite. “You have to teach me how to make them.”

“First, you can call me Bitty if you want,” Bitty said. “Most people do, nowadays. Second, I actually have a tutorial on YouTube, and I can send you a link.”

“You YouTube? Cool. Sam didn’t mention that,” Angelica said.

Bitty bit his lip. He had to remember he wasn’t in Samwell anymore.

“It’s just that -- I’m not sure if Sam knows about my vlog. It’s not something I really talk about in Georgia. It’s mostly cooking, but sometimes I talk about things that I don’t want everyone I know in real life to know about. Or I used to, I guess. Now I’m trying to make money with advertising, and most anything I talked about is in the open anyway.”

Angelica glanced at him before turning her eyes back to the road.

“Was that because you’re …” she trailed off, apparently unsure if the question she wanted to ask would be offensive. 

“Because I’m gay?” Bitty said, maybe more sharply than he intended. “Sam told you that?”

“I’m sorry --” she started.

“No, you don’t have to be,” Bitty said, and sighed inwardly. He’d never told Sam not to tell anyone here. “It’s fine. And yes, it was because sometimes I talked about … about boys and crushes and things like that, and I didn’t tell anyone in Madison I was gay until I told my parents last month. But I had to tell Sam when he visited because I’m out at school, and I didn’t want him to hear it from someone else. I’m still kind of working out how to deal with it in new environments. I mean, Samwell and Madison, Georgia, are kind of like polar opposites in terms of acceptance, but I knew that.” 

Angelica thought for a minute and said, “It’s up to you what you want to say to people this weekend, of course. Vandy is pretty accepting, I think, especially for being where it is, and there are people who are out. The two guys who live next to me in my residence hall are both out, but they’re not, like, together, and they’ve never said anything about any problems. I’m not sure they would, though. And I don’t know about the hockey team. They’re all nice to me when I’m around, but they’re all kind of like dudebros, y’know?”

“Lord, yes,” Bitty chuckled. “I’m thinking it’s not something that has to come up, probably. I’m just Sam’s friend from home, former teammate, in for a visit. I’m not looking for a date or anything.”

“We’re here,” Angelica said. “You can go in through those doors. I’m going to head back and get some work done. Sam said you guys would pick me up for lunch after.”

“Sounds good,” Bitty said. “See you soon.”

Bitty stopped inside the door of the rink to text Jack.

_At Vanderbilt. Gonna watch Sam’s practice and then get lunch with him and Angelica. Any way we can meet up so I can give Tater his cookies?_

He took a seat a couple of rows back from the bench and watched the team. They were working on their power play and penalty kill, and Bitty focused on picking apart the vulnerabilities he could see, the way the Samwell team would either attack on the power play against this team or attempt to gain control of the puck and keep it out of the zone on the penalty kill.

The team was good, Bitty thought. Not as good as Samwell or the ECAC teams they played against, but for a club team, very good. Sam played a style similar to Bitty’s, using quickness and stick-handling to keep possession and try to avoid getting hit. Probably it was a natural byproduct of playing in a no-check league all through high school.

The coach blew the whistle and they gathered round him to hear his advice and criticism, and Bitty saw several heads turn his his way. Sam broke free and skated over, so Bitty made his way to the boards.

“We’re going to be doing some non-contact drills if you want to skate with us,” he said. “There’s an extra helmet on the bench, and you can use my backup stick if you want.”

“Sure thing,” Bitty said, and went to get his skates out of his bag.

In two minutes he was on the ice, a slightly-too-big helmet on his head and a slightly-too-long stick in his hands, skating lazy circles around the rink to warm up.

When the coach set the players up in two lines to start a skating drill, he took a place at the back of one of the lines, next to Sam, who was at the back of the other line.

The player in front of him turned around and said, “You’re the one from Samwell that Sam’s been talking about?”

“Yeah,” Bitty said. 

“He says you’re fast,” the player said. “I bet you are ‘cause you’re small, so you have to be fast.”

“You’ll see,” Bitty said.

When he and Sam came to the goal line, he looked at Sam, and Sam nodded and mouthed, “Go for it.”

Bitty didn’t bother to respond, taking off at full speed to the blue line, turning around to skate backwards until the next blue line, turning again and whipping his body around the circle, picking up a puck passed by the coach and carrying it through a slalom course of cones set up for the return trip.

He looked back when he passed the goal line to see Sam just starting the cones, and he grinned and got back in line.

“Yeah, you’re fast,” the player in front of him said, and offered his fist to bump.

He skated through the remaining drills, not showing off as much, working with partners on passes and working on his own shot until practice ended. After the whistle blew, the coach -- Sullivan, Sam said -- beckoned him over and said, “You’ve got some skills. Thanks for skating with the boys. It’s good for them.”

“Uh, thank you,” Bitty said. “It was a pleasure.”

He got his bag and headed for the locker room to wait for Sam. Bitty thought he could use a shower, but somehow, showering with a team he wasn’t part of felt weird. Maybe they could stop at Sam’s res hall to drop his bag before lunch, and he could rinse off.

He leaned against the wall next to the door, letting the hoots and hollers that filtered out wash over him. He checked his phone again; Jack had texted back. 

_Maybe you could drop them at the hotel this afternoon? Leave them at the desk. I’ll tell them we’re expecting them so they’ll send them up. I’d love to see you, but I don’t want anyone to catch on._

Bitty sighed, texted an “OK” back, and shoved the phone into his pocket as the door opened and one of the players started to come out. He stopped in the door to say something, and with the door open, Bitty could hear the conversation inside more clearly.

“So that guy is your friend from Samwell?” someone was saying. “Isn’t that the gay school?”

“I didn’t know a school could be gay,” Sam responded calmly.

“I mean, like, everyone who goes there is gay,” the first voice persisted.

“Everyone?” Sam said. “I think that’s a little high. It does have a reputation for being LGBT-friendly.”

“So, like, are there gay guys on the hockey team?” another voice asked.

“I really didn’t ask about anyone’s sexual orientation when I visited,” Sam was saying as the player in the door left and the door started to swing closed. Bitty stepped forward and nudged his toe in so he could hear the rest. “But I’m pretty sure anyone on the team would be fine with it.”

“What about your friend? Is he gay?” another guy asked. “Are you two gay together?”

“Oh, come on,” someone said -- the one who asked if there were gay men on Samwell’s team, Bitty thought. “You’ve met his girlfriend.”

“Do you want to go out with Bittle?” Sam asked. “‘Cause if you do, I’d say he probably wouldn’t mind if you asked his orientation. If you don’t, I can’t see how it’s any of your business.”

The one who had defended Sam’s heterosexuality spoke up again.

“Who cares if he’s gay? Bro can fuckin’ play.”

There were murmurs of assent as Bitty let the door close gently and went back to leaning against the wall. 

Sam came out a few moments later, took one look at Bitty’s face, and said, “How much did you hear?”

“Uh, most of it, I think,” Bitty said.

Bitty shouldered his bag and followed Sam to the parking lot.

“I’m sorry about that,” Sam said. “They’re really not bad guys.”

“Uh-huh,” Bitty said. 

“No, I mean they wouldn’t hurt someone for being gay,” Sam said. “They just don’t know how to talk about it without sounding like idiots.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Bitty said. “You know after what you said, they all think I’m gay. Because you didn’t deny it.”

“I didn’t want to lie,” Sam said, as they got to the car. 

“No, it’s OK,” Bitty said. “I’ll make sure not to get trapped in any dark hallways with any of them, and all they’d have to do is find my social media to know I’m gay, anyway. But I noticed you didn’t say you were straight either.”

“But I’m with Angelica,” Sam said.

“You know dating a girl doesn’t necessarily make you straight,” Bitty said. “But you're right: They probably don't know that, and you don't have to tell me anything unless you want to.”

“Why didn’t you do that?” Sam asked.

Bitty, who was searching for the address of the Falconers’ hotel, was caught off guard.

“Hmm? Why didn't I what?” he asked, pulling the hotel address up on the phone and holding it up for Sam to see. “By the way, can we stop here? I just need to run in and drop something off.”

“Sure, but it's out of our way,” Sam said. “Can it wait until after lunch? I'm guessing you want a shower anyway. I meant, why didn't you go out with a girl? Keep people off your back in high school?”

Bitty shook his head. “I really don’t think I could have played a convincing boyfriend, do you? I was always more the gay best-friend type, if we’re going for rom-com stock characters.”

“No, really, Eric, there were plenty of girls --”

“Who thought I was cute?” Bitty said. “That's what my mama said. And maybe they did, but I didn’t realize it, and even if I did, I couldn’t have done that to them. How would they feel when I never wanted to kiss them, or anything else? Besides, people started thinking what they thought of me the day I walked into that school. Any girl who went out with me would be taking her reputation in her own hands. And the thing is, the people who thought I was gay? They weren't wrong about it. It was just so many other things they were wrong about.”

“I always liked kissing girls,” Sam said.

“Good thing, since you have a girlfriend who seems pretty great,” Bitty said. 

“But since I've met more people who aren’t straight, sometimes I wonder if I could have -- I don't know -- been attracted to guys?” Sam said.

“Have you ever been attracted to a boy? Or had a crush on a movie star -- male, I mean?” Bitty asked. “Because if the answer’s no, you probably don’t need to worry about it, unless it happens at some point.”

“I guess,” Sam said, but he didn’t sound very sure. “I mean, I talked about it with Angelica, and she said as long as I wanted to be with her, she was cool with that.”

“It's good to be honest,” Bitty said. “I guess one thing I learned at Samwell -- well, mostly from Shitty -- is that it’s not as simple as being gay or straight, or bi, even. There’s lots of ways people identify, and you don’t have to pick a label if you don't want to. Maybe you should talk to Shitty.”

“Maybe,” Sam said. “I’ll see how it goes.” 

He pulled into a campus parking lot and said, “You said you’re not staying here tonight, and you’d explain when you got here?”

“I'll tell you when we get to your room,” Bitty said.

Once they were in the room and had confirmed that Sam’s roommate wasn’t there, he said, “What gives? Where are you staying tonight?”

“With Jack Zimmerman.”

“Holy shit,” Sam said. “Are you -- Is he -- You seemed really close when I was at Samwell.”

“We are really close,” Bitty said. 

“But are you, like, dating?” Sam paused. “No wonder you were so sure he’d get us tickets.”

“If it got out that Jack was dating a guy, it could ruin his career,” Bitty said. “So you can't say anything to anybody.”

“Not even Angelica?”

“I don’t know,” Bitty said. “How much do you trust her?

“Enough to tell her I could maybe like guys,” Sam said.

“You’re dating her,” Bitty said. “That's your truth to share. Jack agreed that I could tell you, but we didn’t talk about telling her, so I don't know how he’d feel about it. Can we just say I'm crashing with Jack because he’s got this plush hotel bed calling my name, and that way, I won’t have to sleep in your roommate’s?”

Bitty wrinkled his nose at the unmade bed on the far wall.

“I guess,” Sam said. “She might not buy it, but she'll understand if I don't explain. What did he tell his team?”

“That he was staying back to meet someone about an endorsement deal or something. Where's the shower?”

Despite the uncomfortable conversation, Bitty found he enjoyed his afternoon with Sam and Angelica. She never questioned why Bitty was staying with Jack; she sort of implied she thought he was being nice and giving her and Sam a chance to stay together in his room with his roommate gone. She was funny and smart and clearly didn’t let Sam get away with much.

She came from Indiana, and said her family was one of the few socially liberal ones in her town. They ended up being a sort of support system for kids who couldn’t figure out how to get along with their parents for one reason or another. One or two were gay, but there was one Latino girl who was forever rebelling against her parents’ strict rules and a couple who told their parents they no longer wanted to go to church.

“You can imagine that made my family pretty unpopular with the other parents,” Angelica said. “And how they felt when I started hanging out with their kids. But I had a few good friends.”

Bitty held up his end by telling gently embarrassing stories about Sam, and the time leading to Jack’s game disappeared quickly.

The tickets Jack got were behind the Falconers’ bench, about 10 rows up, close enough to be awesome seats but far enough the players wouldn't notice him unless they were looking.

Except, of course, that they were one of only a few groups wearing Falconers’ gear in the Preds’ arena. 

Bitty wore his Zimmerman jersey (“That your _lucky_ jersey?” Sam asked, all but winking and leering); Sam wore a Zimmermann shirsey, not the one the team autographed; and Angelica had a long-sleeved Falconers T-shirt that Bitty brought with. 

Bitty tried not to stand up and cheer when Marty scored, or when Poots did, letting his friends cheer enough for him. But he couldn't help standing up and booing when Poots was boarded, fell badly and headed off the bench to the trainer’s room, and standing and cheering when Jack scored on the ensuing power play. 

Some of the players, looking over their shoulders for the friendly fans, looked like they knew they had seen Bitty before. Marty even gave him a nod. Tater seemed to be concentrating on not looking.

After the game, Bitty asked Sam to drop him at the hotel. 

“I'll text you in the morning if you guys want to meet for brunch or something,” Bitty said. “You're game’s at 3, right? So around 10?”

“I think that's still officially breakfast, but it sounds good,” Angelica said.

“Is Jack coming to my game?” Sam asked. 

“I think so, but it might be better not to say anything to your team?” Bitty said.

“Yeah, probably,” Sam said. “Still, it would be cool to find out what he thinks.”

“I'll be happy to pass any advice along,” Bitty said. “And if you come up north again, I'll try to get some ice time with him. Are you going to the game, Angelica?” 

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she said. “See you tomorrow.”

Bitty got the key Jack left for him at the desk with no trouble, giving the code Jack had left (Bitty’s birthday; had Dex never talked to him about passwords?). He got upstairs, opened the door and found a king-sized bed covered with snowy white linens, a marble-tiled bathroom and a note from Jack.

“I'll stay and and eat with the team before they leave the arena. If you're hungry, order whatever you want and charge it to the room. Tater says thanks, by the way.”

Bitty looked at the menu. They wanted $15 for a chicken sandwich. Nope. He'd eaten before the game, and he wasn't the one who left it all on the ice tonight. Instead, he opened the last bag of cookies in his bag -- the one for Jack -- and ate one.

Then he decided to take a proper shower in the bathroom; he'd gotten in and out of the mildew-encrusted cubicle at Sam's residence hall as fast as humanly possible. Once he'd had his fill of hot water, fragrant bath products and steam, he stepped out and finger-combed some product into the longer section of his hair, leaving it loose enough for the front to drop onto his forehead. Then he slipped back into Jack's jersey, this time with nothing underneath, and settled on the bed. 

If he timed it right, he should have a few minutes at least before Jack got there. He'd heard about men preparing themselves -- fingering themselves open -- before meeting their partners, but he wasn't sure exactly how to do it. Besides he thought he'd look ridiculous if Jack walked in while he was doing it. Maybe the whole idea of this -- of being on the bed, all but naked, where Jack couldn’t help seeing him when he walked in -- maybe it was too cheesy. Maybe Jack would laugh, or be put off, or think Bitty was being too demanding.

He had just played a hockey game. Maybe he was too tired to want Bitty like that tonight. 

Bitty considered getting up and at least putting his boxer briefs on. He got up and went over to his bag to find them, but before he did, his fingers encountered the little bottle of lube he’d thrown in because maybe it would come in handy. Because Jack had been telling him, over the phone and over Skype, how much he missed touching Bitty and having Bitty touch him. Because over the months they’d been together, Bitty had learned how much better sex with a partner -- sex with Jack -- was than just jacking off, but also how much better both were with sufficient lubrication.

Fuck it, Bitty told himself. If Jack was too tired, that was fine. But Bitty was enjoying thinking about all the things they had done together -- especially New Year’s Eve -- and he was getting hard. He snagged the lube out of the bag instead of his underwear and went back to the bed. He uncapped the bottle and started stroking himself slowly.

Maybe Jack would want to fuck him again. Maybe Jack would want to blow Bitty, or maybe Jack would want Bitty to blow him. Either way was fine with him. Maybe Jack would suck on his earlobe, trail kisses down his neck, nibble at his nipples. Bitty adored having Jack’s mouth on him.

Maybe he would want Bitty to touch him, to run his fingers down his back, to stroke his cock just like he was stroking his own, to gently caress his balls and to reach behind them …

Bitty’s hand was definitely moving faster when the door clicked open and Jack stood there looking at him. Jack’s jaw actually dropped, and it was all Bitty could do not to giggle with amusement and embarrassment. As it was, he felt his cheeks heat even more while his hand stilled and he looked at Jack like he was a guilty teenager.

“Don't stop because of me,” Jack said, not taking his eyes off Bitty while he pulled his tie loose and tossed his jacket at the chair.

“I'm sorry,” Bitty said. “I thought maybe I should wait to see if you wanted …”

“And don't apologize,” Jack said, unbuckling his belt and dropping his trousers and underwear together. 

He was almost all the way hard already.

“Apparently you do want,” Bitty said, stroking again.

“I want very much,” Jack said, stripping the shirt from his shoulders before climbing naked on the bed and crawling between Bitty’s knees. “ _Osti de tabarnak,_ Bits. Do you you know what you look like?”

Jack braced his arms on either side of Bitty and leaned forward to kiss him. Then he shifted so he could join Bitty in stroking his cock.

Bitty pulled Jack closer, wrapping his legs around him and licking up the tendon in his neck. He leaned up to Jack’s ear and said, “What do you want, Jack? Tell me. Anything you want.”

Jack groaned.

“Would you fuck me?” Jack asked.

Bitty sat up suddenly.

“It’s OK, we don’t have too,” Jack said, pulling back. “I know we haven’t really talked about it.”

“No, wait,” Bitty said. “Yes, if that’s what you want. I absolutely want to do that. I just … didn’t expect you to want it. And I’ve never done it, so you’ll have to tell me what to do.”

“I like it both ways,” Jack said. “And if you don’t want to, I’m happy to top all the time. It’s fine. But I’ve been thinking about having this --” Jack ran a finger up Bitty’s very stiff cock “-- inside me.”

Bitty swallowed and nodded and said, “OK. OK. Um, can I touch you first, open you up?”

Jack smiled gently and kneeled up over Bitty’s lap.

“Please,” Jack said. “You’ve fingered me before. Like that.”

So Bitty reached around, ran his fingers down Jack’s cleft and began playing gently around his hole. When Bitty pushed a finger in, he also leaned in and took Jack’s cock into his mouth. 

“ _Crisse,_ Bits,” Jack said, tipping forward and grasping the headboard. Bitty slipped another finger in and kept going, gently suckling at Jack while his fingers worked him open.

He had just added a third finger when Jack pulled back and breathed.

“If we keep this up, I’m going to come,” he said. “Here, let’s do it this way.”

Jack moved off of Bitty and settled on his elbows and knees, ass up and ready for Bitty.

“For the first time, this is probably easiest,” he said. “I’ve done this before, but it’s been a while.”

Bitty kneeled up behind him, used his fingers to check to make sure Jack was ready, then rolled a condom on, huffing a laugh.

“Can you believe this is the first time I’ve ever worn a condom?” he said.

“It won’t be the last,” Jack said. “Come on. I’m ready.”

Bitty ran his hands up and down Jack’s back, opened Jack’s ass cheeks up so he could see what he was doing and lined himself up. He pushed in until the head of his cock popped past the ring of muscle. He paused and breathed, “Wow.”

Then he grasped Jack’s hips and continued to push in slowly, not stopping until his hips were flush against Jack. He drew in a deep breath and watched as the muscles in Jack’s back relaxed.

“Are you OK?” he asked.

“Better than OK,” Jack said. “ _Mon Dieu,_ Bits, you feel good.”

“I think I should be saying that to you,” Bitty said.

Jack huffed a small laugh, and Bitty felt Jack move from the inside. He leaned forward and peppered Jack’s back and shoulders with kisses.

“Can I move?” he asked.

Jack nodded, and Bitty pulled almost all the way out, before pushing back in. He started slowly, building speed gradually, and then shifting so he was driving down into Jack’s body.

He knew as soon as he hit Jack’s prostate by the way his muscles spasmed and he gasped.

“Right there,” he said. “ _Crisse,_ right there.”

Bitty could feel Jack trembling as his orgasm gathered and reached around to get a hand on Jack’s cock.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” Bitty said between breaths. “I can feel it. It feels so good, Jack. So good. Can you come for me? I want to feel it. I want you to come.”

Jack groaned louder than before as Bitty felt his body squeeze around him impossibly tightly. The spasms came in waves, and they were enough to push Bitty over the edge. He stiffened and went still. When it was over, he managed to settle on his side, pulling Jack down in front of him and kissing his hair.

“Oh, my God, Jack,” Bitty said. “Is it always like that?”

Jack twined his fingers through Bitty’s and pulled their joined hands to his mouth to kiss Bitty’s knuckles.

“It never was before, but I certainly hope so, _Lapin,_ ” he said.

***********************

Jan. 16, Jack

Jack cracked one eye open and looked at the light filtering through the drapes.

It was definitely past Jack’s usual wake-up time. He stretched and felt the ache from last night, to go along the with soreness that always came the day after a game.

Bitty had shifted into what seemed to be his preferred sleeping position, curled into Jack’s side, and his breathing was deep and regular. Jack reached with his free arm and snagged his phone off the night table. 8:30. Not too late, then.

He opened his phone and scrolled through messages. Poots had what seemed to be a mild concussion. He almost certainly wouldn’t be available for the game on Monday night, but then the Falconers had a two-day break. If he recovered well, he might be able to play Thursday.

Jack wished he could send a text to tell Poots they’d be fine, to take care of himself, but he knew Poots would probably not be allowed to look at screens. Well, he’d be back tonight. Maybe he could stop by. No, Poots would probably be resting.

Jack settled for texting Tater.

_Look out for Poots? Make sure he knows it’s OK to take the time he needs._

He put the phone down as Bitty moved, pulling back a bit to stretch and then wrapping himself back around Jack.

“Morning,” he said, planting a kiss on Jack’s chest.

Jack kissed his hair and said, “Good morning, _Lapin._ Sleep well?”

“Mmmm,” Bitty said. “What time is it?”

“Eight-forty. You can sleep a little longer if you want.”

“Or?”

“Or you could let me have my way with you,” Jack said, surging up to roll Bitty over onto his back. Jack held himself over Bitty, waiting for a response.

Bitty giggled, and then stretched, his arms over his head, his neck exposed, his cock plumping up.

“OK, Mr. Zimmermann, do your worst,” he said, and giggled again. “Or your best.”

Jack positively feasted on Bitty. Jack loved when Bitty took charge and directed the action, but he also liked when Bitty surrendered and just enjoyed his attentions. Let Jack find his own pleasure in pleasing Bitty.

That didn’t mean Bitty was entirely passive. His fingers combed through Jack’s hair and massaged his scalp, and he whined and groaned and murmured endearments as Jack used fingers and tongue and sometimes teeth to explore and excite and expose Bitty’s most sensitive spots. By the time he was breathing over Bitty’s now hard and leaking erection, he had taken note of the way Bitty’s breath stuttered when Jack kissed the inside of his knees, the way his fingers tightened when Jack nosed under Bitty’s balls, the way Bitty pushed his stomach up when Jack traced the lines of his abs with his tongue.

Bitty was flushed down to his chest, and there was a sheen of sweat on his skin.

“Please, Jack, honey, please,” Bitty said. “God, Jack, now, please.”

Jack took Bitty in his mouth and slid as far down as he could, then started bobbing his head. Bitty was already starting to lose it and Jack dimly realized he was thrusting into the mattress, with little effect. He kept working Bitty’s cock with his mouth while he reached down and grasped himself.

Bitty pushed up onto his elbows to watch Jack for a moment before falling back to the bed.

“Oh, my Lord, Jack, you’re going to kill me,” he gasped. Then he was coming, and Jack swallowed as much as he could, then pulled off to kneel up and finish himself, spilling onto Bitty before tumbling to the bed at Bitty’s side and dragging his fingers through the mess on Bitty’s stomach.

They lay together for a few more minutes before Bitty reached for his own phone.

“Time to get up,” he said. “We need a shower before we meet Sam and Angelica.”

After brunch, Sam headed off to meet up with the team while Angelica walked Bitty and Jack around the campus.

She insisted on buying them both Vanderbilt T-shirts to thank them for the tickets, and said Sam couldn’t stop talking about what a great guy Jack was, and how good a friend a Bitty was.

“You guys can sit with me today at the game if you want,” Angelica said.

“Um, I was planning to stand at the back,” Jack said. “I can’t really have it get out that I was here. If my teammates hear about it, they’ll wonder why.”

Angelica looked at Bitty, and then back at Jack, and said, “I get it. It must be hard for you.”

It was the first time she had said anything directly about their relationship, but she’d have to be blind and deaf not to have noticed. Jack shrugged. “The hardest thing is just that we’re apart so much,” he said. “I like having my private life be private. The people who need to know do.”

He snuck a glance at Bitty, wondering if he would agree. He wasn’t sure how true it was himself. He never thought he would have this at all, loving and being loved by someone like Bitty. Then to have their friends know, their parents know, have everyone supporting them … it was more than he could have imagined two years ago. But still they couldn’t hold hands, or stand too close where other people might see. He didn’t want to be seen at a hockey game, of all places, for fear of the questions that might be asked. Maybe someday, he thought. Someday in the next year? Two years? 

Bitty’s chuckle broke into his thoughts.

“You realize that if they thought anything, they’d think you were dating Sam?” he said. “We both came to see you in the dressing room in Providence, and he’s the one who plays here.”

“I’m not really that worried about my team,” Jack said. “I mean, I’m not planning to tell all of them tomorrow, but if they found out, it would probably be OK. It’s Sam’s team that concerns me. They know you’re here visiting Sam.”

Bitty’s face fell.

“And I’m pretty sure they think I’m gay,” Bitty said. “I heard them talking in the locker room yesterday.” 

“They didn’t say anything, well, awful, did they?” Angelica asked.

Bitty shrugged. “You mean did they call me names and threaten to beat me up? No. They were just asking Sam if I was gay, because I go to a _gay school._ ”

“That went to the Frozen Four last year,” Angelica said.

“Forgive me for saying so,” Bitty said, “but in my experience, being better than them at something they value rarely makes homophobic dicks feel more kindly toward you.”

Jack and Bitty stood behind the seats, a couple of sections over from where Angelica was sitting with girls that she knew, sipping at coffee they brought in from a shop down the street. Jack had his old Habs cap pulled low and wore a nondescript hoodie and jeans; his Samwell team might have chirped him mercilessly for lack of fashion sense, but he knew how to deflect attention. Bitty wore his new Vanderbilt T-shirt and stood a careful distance from him. His teeth worried at his bottom lip, and Jack thought he seemed distracted.

“Hey, it’s fine,” he said, moving a bit closer. “I’m allowed to have gay friends, and straight friends, and, when I have my team’s permission, I’m allowed to take some time to visit them. I just prefer keeping a low profile.”

He wasn’t sure Bitty believed him.

The game ended in victory for Vanderbilt all too soon, and Jack waited for Sam to come out and get congratulations before saying goodbye and ordering an Uber to take him to the airport.

“I’ll call you when I get home,” he said. “Let’s talk about next week. Maybe Wednesday? You don’t think they’ll add a practice?”

“I doubt it. I’ll let you know,” Bitty said, giving him a brief hug and whispering, “I love you. Call me when you get home” in his ear.

**************************

Jan. 18, Bitty

Bitty sighed with relief when he saw the open seat at the gate with a electrical socket next to it so he could charge his phone for the flight.

He would be home by mid-afternoon, in time for practice and to make dinner for the Haus as long as Lardo got someone to shop from the grocery list he left. After two days at Vanderbilt, he was ready to go home. To Samwell, one of his homes at least.

It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with Vanderbilt. It seemed like a fine university, and Sam was happy there, so that counted for a lot. He liked Angelica and their other friends that he met after Sunday’s game.

Even the hockey team seemed not to be too bad. Better, at least, than Bitty had expected.

There had been a party the night after the game, off campus at a house occupied by some number (six? eight?) of hockey players. The house was bigger than the Haus and nowhere near as ramshackle, but the alcohol and the chirps flowed just as freely.

If he didn’t see any same-sex couples dancing together, there were plenty of groups dancing, and he spent some time bopping to Bey and Nicki with Sam and Angelica and their friends. No guys danced up on him, and the girls kept a respectful distance, if only because of the looks Angelica gave anyone who got to close.

When he was getting beer from the keg (why was the beer at kegsters always so nasty?), he heard Angelica talking behind him.

“Sam’s friend from Georgia …”

“Visiting for the weekend from Massachusetts ….”

“Yeah, he’s totally taken.”

Scott, the guy who was ahead of him when they lined up for drills on Saturday, came up and gave him a fist bump, then draped an arm over his shoulder and introduced him to several other players. No one said a word about the locker room conversation.

“So did you enjoy slumming it at our game today?” another one -- Tim? -- asked. “Seriously, what did you think?”

So Bitty shared his (Jack’s) impressions, complimenting their speed and their discipline, especially on the power play.

He kept some of Jack’s observations to himself, about their lack of conditioning, the way their D would jump into the offensive play and leave the points unoccupied, their over-reliance on the stretch pass, which wouldn’t work against a better team than the one they beat. A party wasn’t the time to talk about that.

It had been … fine. And Bitty could actually see himself at a school like that. He’d be OK, he’d go to classes, he might even go to a few meetings of the gay-straight alliance or whatever they called that group here. Maybe he’d be out, in a limited sort of way. But out to the hockey team? Would they have helped with his checking problem, even? Allowed him… encouraged him, even … to bake as much as he wanted? Probably not. It would be OK, he thought, but still a stifling kind of life.

He left the party with Sam and Angelica shortly after midnight -- Angelica had an early shift working at the library Monday morning -- and walked with Sam back to his residence hall.

“So, uh, what do you think? Are you glad you came?” Sam asked.

“I like it,” Bitty said. “The people seem nice, and it seems like there’s a good balance between social life and academics. I couldn’t see you at a total party school.”

“No, me either,” Sam said. “But for me, it seemed a little easier than going somewhere as far as Massachusetts.”

“I get that,” Bitty said. “And it was hard at first, not being able to go home until Christmas, how cold the weather gets. But for me at least, Samwell fit better.”

“For hockey alone, right?”

“Well, that too,” Bitty said. “Seriously, your team’s pretty good. And Angelica is great. Has she met your family yet?” “Not yet,” Sam said. “We’re thinking spring break she might come home with me.”

“Well, she’s welcome if you come visit me again. If you think she could handle the rest of the team.”

“The team she’d be fine with,” Sam said. “I’m not sure about that ugly-ass couch, though.”

Bitty beamed.

“Of course not! She has standards!”

It wasn’t until they were walking to breakfast Monday morning that Sam brought up a question that Bitty had just started to consider.

“Are you going back to Madison this summer? Because if you’re not, Karla’s going to need to find more help,” Sam said. 

“I know,” Bitty said. “I feel like I should let her know pretty soon. But Jack hasn’t actually invited me to stay this summer, and I’d have to find a job in Providence.”

“Eric. Do you have a key to his place?” Sam asked.

“Yes,” Eric said. 

“Has he told you it’s only for emergencies?” 

“No.”

“Do you wait for him to invite you before making plans to visit?”

“Well, no, but …”

“But what? I’m pretty sure he’d be disappointed if you weren’t planning on staying there.”

“I did call it ‘home’ when I texted him a couple of weeks ago, and he seemed really pleased,” Eric said. “But that’s different than making plans to stay there for 10 weeks. And I’d still need a job.”

“Which would probably be easier to find in Providence, or at least the Boston metro area, than in Madison” Sam said. “I mean a job that could lead to something later, not just being a rink rat.”

“I know all that,” Eric said. “But I’m afraid to bring it up with Jack, and I have to do that before I even start looking. Then I have to tell Mama, too.”

“That, I don’t envy,” Sam said.

Sam and Angelica drove him to the airport in plenty of time to check his bag, and now he was sitting with his feet up on his carry-on and his phone plugged in.

It was 10 a.m. in Nashville, 11 in Providence. Jack should be off the ice from morning skate.

_Are you busy? Call me if you can. Nothing to worry about. I’m waiting at the gate, and there’s something I want to talk to you about, but everything’s fine._

Two minutes later his phone vibrated.

“Hey, Jack. Everything is fine, really. No, no, really, I was just thinking I need to start looking for a job for the summer, and I wondered if you thought maybe I should be looking in Providence?”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/justlookfrightened)!


End file.
